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Blunder’s Mystery 
Companions 
















THE OLD CHEST IN THE GARRET 






































BLUNDER'S 

MYSTERY 

COMPANIONS 


FLORENCE M.RETTEE 

WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 
WIIHELNINA HARPER. 


ILLUSTRATED BY 
ALEXANDER KEY 



ALBERT WHITMAN £C0 
PUBLISHERS CHICAGO 



BOYS' AND GIRLS' ADVENTURE LIBRARY 
INSPIRING LIVES OF SIXTY FAMOUS MEN 
NEW YEAR’S TO CHRISTMAS 
THE YOUNG PUBLISHER 
SKIMMER, THE DARING 
FIGHTING FOR CUBA 
ICEBOUND IN THE SOUTH POLAR SEAS 
ADVENTURES OF LAFAYETTE 


Printed in the U. S. A. 


©CIA 15 481 v 

NOV -4 1929 \ 



FOREWORD 


Those of us engaged in library wor\ with children 
\now that there are two types of stories that have an 
invariable appeal to most all young people — the 
“ adventure” and the “mystery" story. It is often 
difficult to find boo\s of this hind with sufficient action ,, 
human interest , and embodying worthy ideals of con* 
duct throughout. 

In BLUNDER'S MYSTERY COMPANIONS , 
Miss Pettee has provided an unusual combination of 
vivid historical narrative and adventure , together with 
several thrilling mystery stories which will be sure to 
delight the hearts of all young readers. 

The author seems to have expert \nowledge of 
childrens interests , and even in her most exciting tale 
she is careful that no point is overdrawn. 

The first eight chapters in the boo\ form separate 
stories surrounding ancient objects which some young 
people unearth from an old chest in the garret. They 
are the basis of fascinating tales of the old days in 
history , tales of Indians and the sea; and the last four 
stories deal with ghosts and deep mysteries which the 


FOREWORD —Continued 


young people solve in quite natural manner , and with 
no undue show of either bravado or heroism. 

Each story in the boo\ may be recommended as 
wholesome and full of vivid interest to both young and 
old. 

WILHELMWA harper. 



PUBLISHERS' NOTE 

Blunder's mystery companions are the chief 
characters in each episode of the entire boo 


CONTENTS 

Foreword by Wilhemina Harper. 7 

BOOK ONE 

THE OLD CHEST IN THE GARRET 

Page 

I. The Secret of the Ebony Box. 13 

II. The Snaring of Scarlet Feather. 29 

III. The Hole in the Waistcoat. 45 

IV. Tim’s Tarpaulin Ghost. 60 

V. Brown Dust. 75 

VI. Said with Spears. 88 

VII. Lady Audrey’s Armor. 104 

VIII. The Nicked Blade. 125 

BOOK TWO 

THE GHOST OF HAUNTED HOLLOW 

I. The Deserted Mansion. 139 

II. Through Bolted Doors. 149 

III. The Ghost. 159 

THE RIDDLE OF RAVENSWOOD 

I. The Florentine Chest. 170 

II. The Wraith. 188 

THE ENIGMA OF EEL GRASS BAY.210 

THE HOUSE OF THE HAUNT 

I. The House. 231 

H. The White Skull. 251 
























LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

The Old Chest in the Garret.Frontispiece 

The skeleton head still hovered there. 12 

He stared at Scarlet Feather. 39 

He saw plainly the ghostly form of a skeleton. 71 

Peter went down first.. 99 

A powerful figure in a cape rose silently. 123 

Blunder'Beth prodded the halfiopen door_ 147 

A tall figure in black came up. 167 

The sound came lightly from the chest. 191 

Peter held up satiny spheres of white. 207 

Then a boat poked about a bend. 227 

“That, sir, is the print of a heebmark”. 269 













THE SKELETON HEAD STILL HOVERED THERE 



BLUNDER’S 

MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


i 

The Secret of the Ebony Box 

Raindrops lanced the garret window with 
stinging, silver needles. Under the eaves it 
was so dark that the figures there moved like 
ghostly silhouettes. 

“I’ll get the key,” offered Blunder-Beth. 

She tripped over the foot of the spinning- 
wheel and sprawled on the sagging, time-worn 
floor. She picked herself up lightly, a laugh¬ 
ing, good-humored, dark-eyed girl of fifteen, 
and shook her brown bob vigorously. 

“Skinned my knee,” she declared to Nancy, 
who came forward with a disturbed face. 
Nancy never blundered into things as did the 
clumsy, awkward Blunder-Beth. 

“You and Steven get the old chest out from 
under the eaves,” suggested Beth as she dis¬ 
appeared down the creaking, uneven garret 
stairs. “I’m sure grandmother will give us 
the key.” 


13 


14 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


Nancy and Steven fumbled about in the 
gloom. They brought out from under the cob¬ 
webs and the dust a long, black, brass-studded 
chest, which was mysteriously heavy. It was 
powdered with dust. The metal was freckled 
with rust, and the keyhole was as huge as one 
might expect to find on some dungeon door. 

With a faint, protesting squeak of garret 
boards they lugged the chest to the single win¬ 
dow with its festoons of cobwebs, its coating of 
neglect. The rain pattered against the panes 
with redoubled insistence. 

On one end of the dusky, old chest was 
painted in dim but discernible letters: Capt . 
Nahum Hutchinson, Bath, Me., U. S. A. 

“That must have been great-great-grand¬ 
father,” observed Nancy thoughtfully. “I do 
hope grandmother will let us look inside. It’s 
just like a treasure-chest.” 

“Full of old clothes mostly,” decided 
Steven with boyish scorn and wisdom. “Who 
cares about old clothes!” 

“Maybe,” murmured Nancy, “a story goes 
with each one. I’ve a game in mind for this 
wet day. Here comes Beth now.” 

Beth’s sturdy figure came to view from a 
tunnel made by the crooking stairs. She 
dangled a huge, dark object. 


THE SECRET OF THE EBONY BOX 


15 


44 The key!” she announced. “And grand¬ 
mother says we may look about as much as we 
please, provided we are careful and set things 
to rights when we are through.” 

“Fine!” said Nancy. “Now listen to my 
plans. Let’s draw lots. I’ll pick three straws 
from the old broom in the corner. The one of 
us who gets the longest shall have first choice 
as to which thing in the old chest seems most 
likely to have a tale attached to it.” 

4 4 Good idea, ’ ’ approved Steven grandly. 4 4 1 
always was lucky. I’ll pick the long straw. 
See if I don’t!” 

Nancy came back with the three bits stick¬ 
ing up above her thumb and first finger, their 
lengths hidden inside her tightly clenched fist. 

44 Ladies first,” murmured Steven, clicking 
his heels together and making a sweeping bow 
in Beth’s direction 

Beth pulled out a straw. It was short and 
stubby like herself. 

44 That’s not it,” she declared. 44 Well, I 
don’t want the responsibility of choosing some¬ 
thing with a history.” 

44 Now it’s your turn, Steven,” reminded 
Nancy. 

Steven put his head first on one side, then on 
the other. His heavy, tortoise-rimmed spec- 


16 BLUNDER'S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

tacles made him look like a sober old owl. The 
girls laughed. He finally pulled out a straw 
that seemed endless in length. 

4 * Good gracious!” exclaimed Beth. “ Who 
would have supposed that Nancy could have 
held such a long piece inside her fist!” 

“Steve’s luck is holding,” laughed Nancy. 
“That’s the one. Give him the key, Beth. 
Let’s see what Sir Wisdom will select. Atid 
there is a penalty, you know, Steven.” 

“Penalty!” Beth and the boy echoed. 

“Yes. You know how grandmother loves 
to tell a story if she is given the proper in¬ 
centive. Well, whatever you choose we shall 
take straight down to her in the sewing-room. 
We’ll ask her if there is a story connected with 
your selection. If she says yes, you’ll get an¬ 
other choice.” 

“And if no ?” demanded Steven. 

“The next choice falls to Beth, and you 
don’t listen in.” 

“I’ll pick a blue-ribbon winner, all right; 
don’t worry.” 

Steven inserted the heavy, rusty key. The 
lock was shot with a grating protestation. Up 
came the heavy cover with further groans 
from the ancient chest. 

“My, but it’s heavy!” 


THE SECRET OF THE EBONY BOX 


17 


An odor of must and foreign incense came 
forth stealthily, alluringly. Inside were 
clothes, chiefly; elegant, velvet topcoats, gay 
in metal buttons; frilled shirts; satin knee 
breeches; buckled shoes; coats which grand¬ 
mother would have called redingotes; a leather 
belt with a dark leather scabbard and the hilt 
of a short sword projecting. There were short, 
snouty, clumsy pistols—horse pistols. 

Steven wavered. “Now, this short sword,” 
he began, fingering it tentatively. 

Beth’s bobbed head was well inside the deep 
chest. Her sturdy body was doubled over like 
a jack-knife. 

4 * Oh, look, Stevie! Look at that black box! ’ ’ 

“ An ebony box!” exclaimed Nancy. “All 
filigreed over with dark, tarnished metal!” 

“Probably silver,” declared Beth in a stage 
whisper. “And it’s all carved, too.” 

Reluctantly Steven put down the scabbard. 
He picked up the black box and examined it. 

“My, it’s a beauty! Some dove-tailing of 
joints. And such carving! I know what it is 
to try to carve ebony! It’s as hard as horn. I 
tried to carve a paper-knife out of a thin 
wedge of it down in the manual training room 
last week. It isn’t finished yet. Been spend¬ 
ing most of my time sharpening over my carv- 


18 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


ing set. My, but this is a beauty! Foreign 
made.” He turned the dull, black box over. 
‘ 4 There’s no ‘Made in any place’ label on it.” 

“They didn’t add that in the old days,” 
commented Nancy. “Beautiful things then 
spoke for themselves, without having to be 
labeled. Looks Chinese or Japanese to me. 
Well, great-great-grandfather called at many 
ports in the Silver Spray ” 

Still Steven squinted at the black box. He 
dropped the discarded scabbard. 

“Maybe I’m choosing something that isn’t 
extraordinary,” he said, “but this carved, 

ebony box looks mysterious, and-” He 

weighed it on his palm. “-something 

shakes inside it. Therefore it’s not empty. 
I’ll take this ebony box.” 

Beth led them down the stairs at a galloping 
pace. 

Still the rain sounded a loud tattoo on the 
roof. The darkness had increased until it re¬ 
minded Beth of the box Steven had chosen. 

* * • * 

Downstairs an old lady put aside her knit¬ 
ting. Slowly she took off her near-sighted 
spectacles and tucked them away in a spacious 
bag. From under her workbasket she brought 


THE SECRET OF THE EBONY BOX 


19 


out another pair of glasses and wiped the 
lenses thoughtfully as she adjusted them. 

“So you want a story,” she said. 

“Isn’t there one connected with this box, 
grandmother?” asked Steven, as he brought 
forth the ebony box from behind his back. 

The elderly lady took it. She put her knit¬ 
ting in the work-basket and laid the box care¬ 
fully in her lap. Her frail fingers touched it 
ever so lightly. 

“I heard my father tell the story of this box 
many a time.” 

Steven placed his thumbs at his armpits and 
spread his hands wide in a magnificent 
gesture. 

“I picked it,” he told the girls trium¬ 
phantly. 

Nancy winked laughingly at Beth. The 
wink said, “You rascal! ’Twas you who 
picked out the black box. But never mind. 
It has a story. What does it matter who 
found it!” 

Beth smiled, turned around suddenly, and 
upset Grandmother Stanton’s knitting. The 
big balls of yarn rolled in various directions, 
becoming hopelessly entangled. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” began Steve in a 
falsetto stage voice, as he swung imaginary 


20 BLUNDER'S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


coat tails behind his back. He pointed to Beth, 
who crawled about on all fours retrieving the 
runaway yarn. ‘ 4 Ladies and gentlemen, we 
have with us the great and noble None-such, 
the Countess Blunderbuss of Tumbletown.” 

“Now Steven,” began Grandmother Stan¬ 
ton’s gentle, chiding voice. “Beth is just en¬ 
thusiastic. Her sharp eyes spy so many things 
at once that her feet get tangled up, trying to 
find out all about them. Some day Beth will 
have the laugh on you.” 

“ ’Twas just a joke, grandmother,” added 
Steven worriedly. “Because it’s rather comi¬ 
cal, I must say, the way Beth always blunders 
into anything. ... So the box has a story,” 
he finished, like the youthful diplomat he was, 
“Ah, yes,” sighed the old lady. “I’ve heard 
my father tell it many a time, even as his 
father told it to him.” 

“How does it open, grandmother?” asked 
Nancy. ‘ 4 There doesn’t seem to be a keyhole. ’ ’ 
“It’s a trick Japanese box. You note the 
wonderful carving, especially on this dragon’s 
head.” 

“Yes, yes,” they chorused. 

“When I press it—so, a little spring is re¬ 
leased and ... ” 

Obediently followed a little click as if the 


THE SECRET OF THE EBONY BOX 


21 


ancient, slumbering box had suddenly awak¬ 
ened from its century-deep sleep. The beauti¬ 
ful dark lid flew up. 

Their excited “Ahs” next rippled forth. 
Even Steven dropped his mock-quizzical air. 

The ebony box was lined with faded, crim¬ 
son silk which had long since turned brown. 
On the dim, shining, wrinkled lining coiled a 
long string of milk-white, satiny drops of 
graded sizes. 

i ‘Pearls!” exclaimed Beth. “How beauti¬ 
ful they are!” 

Gently, wistfully, their grandmother touched 
the midmost, largest, gleaming globule. Slowly 
she shook her head. 

Sadly she said, “That was what grand¬ 
father believed until an expert in gems told 
him that they were marvelous imitations.” 

“Not genuine!” 

Again she shook her head. 

“Why should imitations be kept in such a 
magnificent case?” demanded Steven. 

The old lady drew out the gleaming string. 
She held it thoughtfully in her fingers. 

“I will tell you the story,” she said. 

“Like all your ancestors, on the Stanton 
side, your great-great-grandfather Hutchin¬ 
son was a master mariner. He became a cap- 


22 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


tain when only twenty-one—captain of the 
brig, the Silver Spray. He brought various 
cargoes from foreign lands in exchange for 
our own. Once he called at a South American 
port for a cargo of coffee. While there he met 
a young Frenchman by the name of de la Vare. 
The young Frenchman knew much of the sea; 
and as grandfather needed a first mate, he 
gave de la Vare the berth on the Silver Spray. 
He liked the young fellow tremendously, and 
they became close friends. It developed that 
his new first mate was a young man of extra¬ 
ordinary polish and culture. He had traveled 
everywhere and knew the sea even as grand¬ 
father did. He was also an expert swordsman. 
As the months went by, the intimacy between 
the two had strengthened. They then called 
at the port of Jamestown, Va. Here young 
de la Vare confided to your great-great-grand¬ 
father that he was not de la Vare, but a young 
French count who had been in difficulties at 
home and had been forced to go away. The 
reason he revealed this secret now was be¬ 
cause in Jamestown he had encountered the 
old enemy who had caused him the trouble and 
his subsequent flight. On the night in ques¬ 
tion he and grandfather talked in grand¬ 
father’s cabin—talked until dawn. For the 


THE SECRET OF THE EBONY BOX 23 

upshot of the awkward meeting was that the 
young count had challenged the stranger to a 
duel, in accordance with the code of his coun¬ 
try and the custom of the time. The affair 
was to take place at daybreak. Grandfather 
had been prevailed upon to act as the count’s 
second.” 

“Yes, yes,” put in Steven excitedly. 

Beth reached for the pearls. She touched 
them carefully, almost reverently. The story 
took on flesh and blood in her active imagina¬ 
tion. She could see that rough, snug little 
cabin, her sturdy, rugged, down-East ances¬ 
tor, and the young French gallant. 

“Before they left the Silver Spray the 
young Frenchman went to his cabin. He 
weighted his little trunk with shot and flung 
it overboard with all his possessions except 

“The ebony box!” exclaimed Beth, stand¬ 
ing up with the string of pearls dangling 
from her fingers. 

Grandmother nodded. “These he took to 
grandfather. ‘Monsieur Nahum,’ he said, for 
he called grandfather that, ‘these are the only 
things, the only proofs I have to my story that 
I have gentle, noble blood. The other proof 
I sink to the waters of the bay along with my 


24 BLUNDER'S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

identity, if fortune passes me by and I do not 
return from this affaire d’honneur. This valu¬ 
able family heirloom I give to you, Monsieur 
Nahum, as a token of my very great regard 
and affection for you. It is all I have. It is 
a talisman of a great family. It has often 
been dipped in blood. It is worth a king’s 
ransom. Men have fought and died for it, 
men of many stations and callings. I give it 
to you as a slight token of my great regard for 
you.’ The two shook hands over the ebony 
box in the flickering, sputtering light of the 
crude cabin. 

“The young Frenchman went to his affair 
of honor, as he called it. Though he was a 
wonderful swordsman, his dark-skinned op¬ 
ponent was more wonderful. Grandfather’s 
first mate received a mortal wound from the 
unknown stranger’s sword. He died without 
giving his true name or identity, requesting 
grandfather to bury him at sea. Grandfather 
did this, and he treasured the ebony box as 
some sacred, hallowed thing.” 

Grandmother paused. Even now her throat 
was a bit husky with emotion. She was back 
in the long ago. Evidently she had heard the 
story so many times that it lived in the flesh 
for her. 


THE SECRET OF THE EBONY BOX 25 

“One day,” she continued, “the second mate 
was in grandfather’s cabin. Grandfather had 
been examining the keepsake. He hid the little 
string in his heavy coat cuff, for the French¬ 
man’s secret had died with him. During the 
interview with the second mate grandfather 
forgot the hastily concealed pearls; and as he 
bent over the chest explaining some point on 
the chart, they slid to the floor. The mate 
stooped and picked them up. He was an Eng¬ 
lishman who had traveled much and knew a 
great deal. He examined the pearls carefully 
before he returned them into grandfather’s 
keeping. Then he said, ‘A magnificent string 
of imitations, Captain Hutchinson. I have 
seldom seen better.’ 

“ ‘What!’ grandfather exclaimed, pale to 
the lips, for the pearls had become a sacred 
keepsake to him. 

“ ‘Yes,’ repeated the second mate, ‘I spent 
many years on a pearler in the archipelago, 
dickering with the natives for pearls. I knew 
them as I know my compass. These are a fine 
imitation, but—that’s all. I hope, sir, you’re 
not out of pocket, that some sly rapscallion 
didn’t sell them to you for the genuine thing.’ 

“ ‘Ho, no,’ answered grandfather, ‘they’re 
—they’re a gift.’ 


26 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


“‘Gift!’ exclaimed the mate in astonish¬ 
ment. ‘Rather a poor gift, the giving of a 
string of imitations. ’ 

“For, in those days,” she told the intent 
group about her, “imitation was regarded 
with disdain, even with contempt. When the 
mate left the cabin, grandfather would have 
wept had he been a woman. It wasn’t so much 
the value of the pearls as it was what the 
young, self-styled count had told him—that 
they were a token, a rare and priceless token 
of his esteem for grandfather, that they were 
worth a king’s ransom, that they had been in 
his family for years.” 

“Maybe,” declared Beth excitedly, “some 
one had stolen the originals and substituted 
this imitation string without the poor French¬ 
man’s knowing it.” 

“Grandfather would have been quick to 
grasp at that straw, had not his friend shown 
an extraordinary knowledge of all gems, par¬ 
ticularly pearls. He could not have been de¬ 
ceived by the substitutes. The discovery sad¬ 
dened grandfather. It was hard to believe that 
his young friend had been a pretender like the 
pearls. So we’ve always kept grandfather’s 
string of pearls hidden away, even as he kept 
them and requested that they be kept.” 


THE SECRET OF THE EBONY BOX 27 

Beth leaned forward excitedly. 

“Grandmother,” she exclaimed, “don’t you 
suppose—” 

In her excitement the string of pearls slid 
from her fingers in true Blunder-Beth style. 
With a flash they slid under Grandmother 
Stanton’s heavy wooden rocker. As the 
elderly woman leaned forward and bent down, 
the rocker went crunch on the midmost pearls. 

Beth uttered a little cry. “Oh, grandmother, 
the rocker has crunched three of them! And 
it was all my stupid fault. O grandmother, 
I’m so sorry!” 

She bent down contritely and picked up the 
string with its broken beads. Some of the 
distress left her face. 

“Why, why—” she exclaimed, holding them 
out on her palm. 

They all drew close. 

On her brown hand lay the three big pearls, 
cracked and broken. But what had cracked 
under the weight of the rocker was only the 
thin outer coating, and on Beth’s palm three 
flashes of green now blazed forth, freed of the 
imitation pearl covering. 

‘ 4 Emeralds!’’ ejaculated Steven. 4 ‘ They 
must be genuine! Emeralds! So they were a 
real talisman! The count told the truth! To 


28 BLUNDER'S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


protect the great family heirloom against 
thievery and loss he had some skilled Japanese 
craftsman coat them with a skinlike covering 
closely resembling the pearl. The Japanese 
have known the secret for centuries. And the 
box is probably Japanese. He counted on 
great-great-grandfather’s belief and clever¬ 
ness to discover the substitute—the secret—in 
time.” 

Grandmother Stanton’s face shone joy¬ 
ously. “Oh, I’m so glad!” she said. “I always 
felt so sorry for that poor Frenchman. Maybe 
you’re right, Steven. I’ll get a jeweler to ex¬ 
amine them.” 

When the little jeweler called, sometime 
later, his enthusiasm was second only to that 
of Grandmother Stanton’s. 

“A magnificent string of emeralds,” he ad¬ 
judged them from his expert knowledge of 
gems. “I’ve never seen finer. Old, rare, and 
worth a king’s ransom.” 

So Steven Stanton, with the aid of Blunder- 
Beth, picked out a real prize from the depths 
of that dusty old chest in the garret. 


II 

The Snaking op Scarlet Feather 

The trees bowed low under the boisterous 
breath of the breeze. It was as if Herculean 
fingers wielded a mammoth pair of bellows. 
The rain fell in diagonal sheets piercing the 
dusk with long javelins of silver. 

Steven shook his head, staring weatherwise 
out the shed door. 

“It’s no use.” He glanced disappointedly 
at rod, reel, and fresh cans of bait. “The 
bushes would be soaked. And there’s no trout 
worth angling for except those in Strothy’s 
stream—in the woods. Not that we fellows 
would mind,” he added, looking at his cousin 
David who had arrived from the city two days 
before, “but the girls,” nodding at Nancy and 
Beth. “Well, they would not enjoy themselves 
in weather like this.” 

“Ough!” ejaculated Blunder-Beth sudden¬ 
ly. “Help me untangle this snarl, Nancy. 
Please. My line’s all snagged around my reel.” 

Steven made a sweeping bow. He doffed an 
imaginary, broad-brimmed hat in Beth’s di¬ 
rection. 

29 


30 BLUNDER'S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

“ Ladies and gentlemen. We now have with 
ns the Great and None-such Blunder-Beth—” 

Nancy’s swift fingers expertly untangled 
the snarl Beth had made of her line. 

“Steven,” she suggested, “don’t look so 
woebe-gone. There’re better days coming. 
Let’s go fishing—in the garret.” 

“In the garret,” repeated David with a puz¬ 
zled glance at her. “What’s the answer?” 

Steven’s face brightened. “Come on! 
That’ll be jolly! Wait until you see our buried 
treasure in the garret. Heigho! I’ll race you 
to the back stoop!” 

All four of them were off like a streak. 
Shortly they were clump—clumping up the 
worn stairs to the mysterious darkness of the 
eaves and the low-beamed, dusty attic. 

# * * 

Bump , bump, bumpity-bump sounded from 
under the roof. In her sewing-room under¬ 
neath Grandmother Stanton smiled from the 
frame, where she was hooking a rag rug of 
gorgeous gold dragons on a black ground. 

“I wonder what they’ll dig out this time,” 
she murmured reminiscently, thinking of the 
surprising climax which the ebony box had 
furnished after a lapse of so many years. 

“The key’s over here on a nail in the beam,” 


THE SNARING OF SCARLET FEATHER 31 

laughed Blunder-Beth. “I’ll have it in a 
hurry. Drag the old chest to the window. We 
don’t want to be lighting any candles. Too 
dry in here.” 

“Let David do the honors,” suggested 
Nancy. “This old chest’s a regular store¬ 
house of treasures and mystery! See. It be¬ 
longed to great-great-grandfather.” 

She gestured at the dusty, heavily-hinged, 
black chest which they had dragged out. 

David fitted the ponderous key in the rusty 
lock. The hinges creaked like the time-worn 
mechanism on some ancient draw-bridge. 

“Do we draw lots?” demanded Beth with 
an anticipative air. 

“We do not,” answered Steven quickly. 
“Last time you said if I picked a winner, I 
would have another choice. Well, the ebony 
box was a prime prize . . . But I’ll hand over 
my choice to David,” he ended with mock gen¬ 
erosity. “Go on, David, dip in. Let’s see what 
you’ll choose.” 

“Oh, I say,” protested David, “that’s gen¬ 
erous of you . . . My, what a lot of things! 
Fine old clothes, like they wore in Sheridan’s 
Rivals, plumed hats, shoe-buckles, boxes— 
swords—horse-pistols ... I hardly know 


32 BLUNDER'S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


what I do want to pick. They can’t all have 
stories attached to them.” 

Beth wagged her head sagely. ‘ i You’ve no 
idea,” she confided, 44 how many stories grand¬ 
mother knows. She’s never at a loss for one. 
You’ll have a hard time stumping her for a 
tale.” 

“Now the swords,” temporized David, tak¬ 
ing out a long, dark scabbard. “No, I don’t 
believe I’ll take a sword. Sword stories are all 
alike,” he stated grandly, “like The Three 
Guardsmen, or The Prisoner of Zenda, or The 
Count of Monte Cristo. I want something more 
American. Let—me—see—” 

From under an old coat he brought out a 
long string of scarlet feathers set into narrow 
pieces of dark-stained leather. It was gay with 
tiny shells fastened with thin thongs of 
leather. Or was it a shred of tough bark from 
some tree? 

He placed the brilliant head-dress upon his 
head and uttered a loud whoop, brandishing 
an imaginary tomahawk. 

“Must have belonged to the Grand Sachem 
of all the tribes! Come on! Let’s hear what 
Grandmother Stanton has to say about these 
scarlet feathers!” 


THE SNARING OF SCARLET FEATHER 33 


He took the stairs two at a time, with the 
others following close at his heels. 

“Funny I didn’t see that,” Steven was de¬ 
bating. “Seemed to have been folded inside 
of that coat. I’m certain it has a wonderful 
story.” 

The old lady before the rug frame smiled as 
she heard them coming rapidly down the stairs. 
David led them, brave in his array of scarlet 
feathers. 

“Are you—are you too busy, grand¬ 
mother—” began Nancy with her eyes on the 

rug. 

Grandmother Stanton put her hook aside. 
She rubbed her right wrist. 

“My old bones ache easily. And that burlap 
seems to be unusually close-meshed. No, I’d 
like a little time to rest ... So you’ve made 
another marauding tour on the old chest! And 
David has discovered the top feathers of that 
warring, mischievous chief, Scarlet Feather!” 

Beth clapped her hands. “Scarlet Feather!” 
she exclaimed. “ It’s a fine name! ’ ’ 

“It’s a magnificent head-piece,” Grand¬ 
mother Stanton told them. “It’s made of the 
finest wild-turkey feathers, dyed scarlet. See 
how it has withstood the passing of the years. 
The feathers are still deeply crimson. The 


34 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

Indians knew how to brew fast colors from 
the herbs and from the soil—” 

She stopped for a moment. She took off her 
spectacles to rest her eyes. She stared out 
through the rain-splashed panes. They knew 
that her mind was turned backwards many 
years, to some tale her father had told her. Or 
was it her grandfather ? So they waited quietly. 

“I’ll tell you the story of the snaring of 
Scarlet Feather, the wiliest, fiercest of his 
tribe. He was a brave, who carried many a 
scalp in his belt, who absolutely refused all 
gifts and advances from the little colony which 
had settled on his land. For the redskins al¬ 
ways considered the early settlers as thieves 
and interlopers, who had merely appropriated 
what had been theirs for unbroken, long cen¬ 
turies. 9 

“We can’t blame them,” sympathized Blun- 
der-Beth. 

“Those were troublous times, when Scarlet 
Feather harassed, pillaged, and razed more 
than one gallant little stockade in the heart 
of that rugged Maine wilderness. History was 
daily in the making then, the history of great 
privation, of rock-ribbed courage, and the grit 
that comes from long years of the hardiest 
struggle. Ah, we have traveled a long way from 


THE SNARING OF SCARLET FEATHER 35 


those intrepid, uncomplaining times with our 
milk-and-water days of ease—” 

They stirred uneasily. They hoped Grand¬ 
mother Stanton wasn’t starting in on a ser¬ 
mon! 

She sensed their perturbation and smiled 
slightly. She laughed openly at Beth’s wide, 
serious, gray eyes, at her tousled bob, and her 
sturdy, tanned fingers; at Steven, whose owl¬ 
ish, heavy-spectacled eyes were on David’s 
gorgeous head-dress. 

“Let me see,” she temporized tantalizingly. 
“I believe Scarlet Feather was chief of the 
Penobscot branch, but I’m not certain. How¬ 
ever, it doesn’t matter. He was the scarlet 
scourge of the little colony. Neither wile nor 
guile could stop his depredations. Now, Nahum 
Hutchinson, one of your ancestors, was then a 
sturdy young giant, six feet in his stockings, 
and with muscles like The Village Black¬ 
smith.” 

“Firm as iron bands,” murmured Blunder- 
Beth, the irrepressible. 

A warning glance from Nancy silenced her. 
Grandmother Stanton mustn’t be turned from 
her tale. 

“So,” continued the old lady, “Nahum was 
then a lad of seventeen or thereabouts. His 


36 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


father was captain of the stockade, and young 
Nahum was somewhat of an aide-de-camp, 
messenger and right-hand man to his father... 
There came a spell of unusual calm. After a 
disastrous sortie upon one of the neighboring 
colonies, Scarlet Feather and his braves loaded 
their canoes one night and paddled northward 
up the river. They were lost to sight. Even 
the oldest trappers and hunters of the colony 
believed that they had gone north to Canada— 

“Peace fell once more upon the hardy little 
band of pioneers. For the first time in many 
moons they breathed freely. Captain Hut¬ 
chinson organized parties for hunting trips, to 
bring in pelts, fish, reindeer meat, prairie 
chickens, grouse and wild turkeys, and to lay 
in a hasty store for the coming winter. Groups 
of the younger men, headed by young Nahum, 
went into the woods for timber. The battle- 
scarred little fort needed many strong rein¬ 
forcements. More than one cabin roof had been 
seared by the blazing arrows of Scarlet 
Feather’s braves, to be extinguished barely in 
time. So, day by day, they hastily made prep¬ 
arations for the winter, and to withstand fur¬ 
ther attacks, should Scarlet Feather or other 
tribes again infest the locality. 

“Late in the fall, young Nahum went out, 


THE SNARING OF SCARLET FEATHER 37 


early one morning, with his little band of tim¬ 
ber-choppers. But Nahum, being more ad¬ 
venturous than the rest, worked his way into 
the woods away from the others. He was par¬ 
ticularly anxious to find a fine, straight chest¬ 
nut tree. For his mother wanted a new chest 
in which to store away the delicate old linens 
she had brought from England. So Nahum 
kept searching, for he was hard to please. And 
he did want a particularly fine chestnut. 
Finally he found just the one he was seeking. 
He started chopping with his great axe. The 
chips fell steadily from his sturdy blows. And 
the sound of the chopping must have echoed 
and re-echoed through the thick, silent forest. 
Sound carried a long way at mid-day—and to 
keen, skulking Indian ears.” 

Blunder-Beth sighed ecstatically, as she al¬ 
ways did when Indians were mentioned. 

“ Young Nahum finally felled the great tree 
expertly. It lay as he had planned for it to 
fall by the direction and the manner of his 
chopping. He had already hewn away a sturdy 
length from the butt, a log that might have 
been some twenty feet long, and three and a 
half or four in diameter. For undoubtedly it 
was a handsome chestnut. Now the next thing 
was to split the length—to cleave it nicely in 


38 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

the center. Prom his homespun pocket, Nahum 
brought out a big wedge. 

“You see,” Grandmother Stanton ex¬ 
plained, “the moment the initial crack was 
started for splitting a log, a wedge was 
inserted to hold it open. The wedge made 
subsequent axe blows more effective. With a 
tremendous blow of his axe Nahum started the 
first crack in the log. Then he drove the wedge 
hard into the crack near the big end of the log. 
Remember that, at the big end of the log. It 
was hard work. Even his strong young 
shoulders must have ached. As he straightened 
up to wipe the perspiration from his face, his 
quick eye caught the flash of something in the 
heavy underbrush just beyond the spot where 
he was working.” 

The little group about her caught their 
breath. The eyes of all volleyed to the crimson 
head-dress. 

“It was the flash of something scarlet,” she 
added significantly. “It was too large a patch 
of red for any feathered thing. Besides, crim¬ 
son was the well-known badge of Scarlet 
Feather . . . Nahum must have thought very 
rapidly. But he gave no outward sign. He 
raised his kerchief to his face, as if to cleanse 
it of further moisture. He stared hard at the 



HE STARED AT SCARLET FEATHER 









40 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

spot where he had spied the tell-tale sign. As 
he looked, he thought he could discern the 
piercing, black eyes and hideously painted face 
of Scarlet Feather watching him craftily. 

“So Scarlet Feather and his blood-thirsty 
braves had returned! And never had the little 
settlement been more open to attack, more 
poorly prepared to withstand an Indian upris¬ 
ing! When Scarlet Feather was on the ram¬ 
page, his braves were like devastating wild¬ 
fire . . . Nahum listened intently, as his eyes 
circled the space about him. There seemed to 
be no other lurking redskin. Perhaps Scarlet 
Feather himself, making a lone scouting trip, 
had come upon him unexpectedly in his lonely 
outpost. Perspiration poured down Nahum’s 
face, the perspiration of agonizing realization. 
But he wasn’t afraid for himself. For as soon 
as Scarlet Feather felled him with an arrow 
or a tomahawk, and learned of the defenceless 
position of the settlement, he’d bring his sav¬ 
age band down upon them all. He feared only 
for the fate of the little settlement. 

“Nahum’s musket lay many feet away. He 
had only his heavy axe and a glistening, new, 
slim-handled hunting-knife in his belt. The 
blade glittered like silver—and the handle was 
very thin. It had been a birthday present from 


THE SNARING OF SCARLET FEATHER 41 


his father . . . Desperately Nahum tried to 
think of some way out. Why hadn’t Scarlet 
Feather shot him from ambush before? Un¬ 
doubtedly he had been given ample opportun¬ 
ity. 

44 Nahum’s great axe lay against the heavi¬ 
est, butt end of the fallen log. He stood out of 
reach of it—well along the log. Hurriedly he 
brought out his slim, gleaming hunting-knife. 
Its burnished blade glistened enticingly in a 
rift of sunlight. Silver danced along the blade. 
He held the knife so no gleam could escape the 
watching, greedy eyes of Scarlet Feather. For 
he well knew how childishly eager, even a war¬ 
ring Indian chief was for any glittering, new 
trapping. 

4 4 The bushes stirred slightly. Scarlet 
Feather’s captivated gaze was riveted on the 
knife. Nahum’s hand appeared to tremble 
above the broad crack. The knife slipped from 
his fingers—purposely. And the bright blade 
disappeared in the yawning, open crack of the 
huge log. Nahum uttered a pretended vexed 
exclamation. With unhurried stride he cov¬ 
ered the distance to the big, butt end of the log, 
where his great axe lay. Faintly he heard the 
low swish of leaves. Came a cattish tread. 
But he pretended he didn’t hear. Scarlet 


42 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

Feather would not shoot him with bow and 
arrow now—at close range. As for the toma¬ 
hawk—! 

“Slowly Nahum looked up. Scarlet Feather 
stood some fifteen feet from him. His toma¬ 
hawk was in his belt. He grunted gutturally. 
His bright, black eyes clung hypnotically to 
the crack where the gleaming hunting-knife 
had disappeared. Nahum knew that if he 
made the slightest unfriendly movement, the 
tomahawk would flash like lightning from 
Scarlet Feather’s belt into his own scalp. He 
knew that the Indian was only baiting him, 
lured by the gleam of the blade and whatever 
else had drawn him there and kept him watch¬ 
ing. 

“Again Scarlet Feather grunted. He 
pointed at the crack. 

“Nahum nodded. 'Hello,’ he said. 'Want 
it?’ 

“Scarlet Feather understood a few words of 
English. He grunted disgustedly. He meas¬ 
ured the distance between himself, Nahum and 
the big axe. It was entirely safe. Nahum 
couldn’t possibly hit him with the axe as he 
bent to get that very desirable, new knife. 
Scarlet Feather leaned forward. He dipped 
a sinewy hand into the crack. 


THE SNARING OF SCARLET FEATHER 43 

“Whach! Quicker than a flash Nahum 
grabbed his big axe. He knocked the wedge 
out onto the ground. The crack in the log 
snapped together like a steel trap. Scarlet 
Feather’s right fingers were nipped securely 
inside! 

“He howled with rage, pain and realization. 
He couldn’t reach his tomahawk with his other 
hand, nimble and expert as he was. Nahum 
now stood over him with his great axe. He 
grabbed the redskin’s untrapped hand with his 
own steel-strong hands. He whirled the Indian 
about and lashed his free hand to the trapped 
one, securely held in the great log. Then he 
bound Scarlet Feather’s ankles together, and 
staked him to the ground. Nahum had thus 
captured the chief of the tribe. Without his 
fiery, inciting spirit, the plans of the braves 
would be greatly upset. And it would give 
Nahum time to warn his father to prepare for 
an attack ... In an agony of apprehension 
lest some other skulking Indian should dis¬ 
cover Scarlet Feather’s predicament, Nahum 
raced to the nearest group of choppers and 
gave the alarm. When he came back with 
others from the sturdy group, Scarlet Feather 
was still helplessly and safely snared. In 
triumph they carried him into the fort. 


44 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


“ There they held him a prisoner for many 
weeks, until his chiefless band of braves re¬ 
treated to parts unknown. Finally, Scarlet 
Feather himself, his pride broken, and weary 
of imprisonment, promised peace towards the 
colonists. Before he was deported, he insisted 
on giving to young Nahum his warring, scarlet 
head-dress as a token of his complete surrender 
and submission. It was as if he had taken a 
sword and handed it over to some triumphant 
general . . . So, for many months afterwards, 
the little colony lived in peace and prosperity, 
thanks to Nahum’s snaring of the troublesome 
chief, Scarlet Feather.” 



Ill 

The Hole in the Waistcoat 

Steven pushed his glasses hastily on the top 
of his head and mopped his brow. The fire 
of battle glinted in his eyes. 

“Now,” he told his grandmother, “I guess 
Mr. Crow and his militia-men will keep off for 
a while. I’ve rigged a scare-crow in the middle 
of the plot. It’s a good lively one with plenty 
of flapping ends. Now, we’ll see if my corn 
is riddled when this planting comes up!” 

Grandmother Stanton smiled reminiscently. 
The sound of footsteps echoed from overhead. 
The girls were upstairs in the garret rummag¬ 
ing about in the old chest. There was to be a 
masquerade in the Town Hall next week—a 
colonial masquerade. 

“They’re picking their own costumes, and 
yours, Steven.” 

“I don’t want to go,” declared Steven. “All 
fussed up in satin togs. All right for the girls, 
but—” 

The old lady looked at him over the tops of 
her glasses. 


45 


46 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

“You’re very like your ancestor, Ezra Hut¬ 
chinson,” she said. “And I directed Beth to 
pick out a certain faded waistcoat especially— 
a snuff-colored waistcoat with its embroidery 
much the worse for wear. I knew you would 
object—until you heard the story concerning 
it.” 

Steven’s face lightened. 

“That’s better,” he accepted. “If it’s had 
a real, red-blooded life and done something be¬ 
sides mince through a minuet! If there’s a 
lively honest-to-goodness story in it, why, I 
could tell the fellows and—” 

Nancy and Beth bumped open the door. 
They were laden with old-time clothes; poke- 
bonnets, voluminous, frilled satin gowns, silk 
mitts, little high-heeled slippers . . . 

Laughingly Blunder-Beth, as they called 
her, handed over a faded snuff-colored satin 
waistcoat to Steven. 

“Behold, O Sir Mighty-and-Particular, the 
first feather to your gorgeous plumage!” 

Steven fingered the waistcoat a bit disdain¬ 
fully, although it was much plainer than many 
of the other befrilled and embroidered trifles 
in the old chest under the eaves. 

“I thought,” said Blunder-Beth, “that 
great-grand uncle—or whatever he was—Ezra 


THE HOLE IN THE WAISTCOAT 47 

Hutchinson was a great dandy. Was this one 
of his waistcoats ?” 

“Yes,” affirmed their grandmother, “one of 
the few plain ones he possessed—until after a 
certain, all-important night.” 

Steven was studying the faded relic with 
more attention. 

“Oh, I say,” he discovered, “there’s a hole 
in the old satin, a hole big enough to stop a 
cow. Is it a bullet-hole?” 

Grandmother Stanton nodded. 

“That’s the story. That’s why this worn, 
old waistcoat has always been treasured.” 

“But he didn’t die of a bullet-wound,” re¬ 
called Beth. 

“No. Yet it was this self-same colored 
waistcoat that cured Ezra Hutchinson of his 
fancy for fine feathers. It came to be the most 
prized of all his former elegant clothing.” 

“Now, Beth,” she suggested, “if you’ll skip 
up to the garret again, and search deep, you’ll 
find a five-inch length of stout hickory pole 
with a tough knot scarring it. We must have 
that also.” 

They heard Blunder-Beth clumping noisily 
up the stairs. Then the scratching of the old 
chest dragged hastily towards the window. 
Soon Beth came scurrying back down the 


48 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


stairs, two at a time. 

“Here it is,” she announced, giving it to her 
grandmother. 

Ruefully she studied the right sleeve of her 
middy-blouse. It yawned under a jagged, three- 
cornered tear. 

“I caught my sleeve in a nail,” she con¬ 
fessed. “There’s always something lurking 
somewhere ready to take a nip out of me!” 

44 When is Beth not Blunder-Beth ? ’ ’ laughed 
Steven. 

41 When she’s asleep,” answered Nancy 
promptly. 

Grandmother Stanton held forth the gnarled 
bit of hickory pole. 

“What do you see*?” she demanded. 

Steven replied immediately, “ A faint 
scratch on that dark, old knot.” 

44 Very well. Bear that in mind then. It, 
too, played a prominent part in curing Ezra 
Hutchinson of his flair for foppish waistcoats. 
It also won him a commission in the Conti¬ 
nental Army—a commission which his father 
had previously refused to permit him to seek. ” 

They strained forward alertly. 

44 Odd,” mused the old lady, “how history 
repeats itself, with Steven coming in after set¬ 
ting a trap for the crows. And then Beth dig- 


THE HOLE IN THE WAISTCOAT 49 

ging out the old waistcoat, with its pitting 
scar.” 

“Please tell us,” prompted Nancy, “about 
that hole and the hickory pole.” 

Grandmother Stanton smoothed the waist¬ 
coat gently. 

“It’s a tale that goes back to Revolutionary 
Days. And it’s the first time, to my knowledge, 
that a Hutchinson ever played the part of 
fool—remarkably well. Yet Ezra was a brave 
man. Now listen . . . 

“Ezra Hutchinson was then a young captain 
in the militia. His uncle, Captain Nahum, 
brought in from many a foreign port chests 
of magnificent, imported folderols—satin 
knee-breeches, buckled shoes, gay-plumed hats, 
capes. And waistcoats! That was Ezra’s main 
hobby. He collected as many waistcoats as you 
collect bumps and bruises, Beth—as Steven 
hoards up cravats. Such an array! Ail beau¬ 
tiful and costly. 

“But he was a staunch Whig—like all the 
Hutehinsons. And when he was drilling his 
militia-men, he dropped his dandified clothes 
and wore plain homespun like his little 
squad . . . Little by little affairs grew de¬ 
cidedly awkward for the colonists. You know 
about it—high taxes and high-handed, British 


50 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

appointed governors. Then came the affair of 
the Boston Tea Party, the Battle of Lexington 
and Concord, and all the stirring rest. 

“Now, there lived in the great house on the 
hill, half a mile down the road, a family by the 
name of Morningside, recently come from 
England. They seemed wealthy, quiet folk, 
who kept much to themselves. Mr. Morning- 
side was supposed to be a surveyor. He had 
one grown-up son who was away from home 
much, only coming back at odd times. This 
son’s name was George, and his own calling 
was much of a mystery. But it came out later. 

“When open trouble with England de¬ 
veloped more than one whisper went about the 
countryside concerning these people. They 
were said to be staunch Tories, serving His 
Majesty secretly, and spying on all the move¬ 
ments of the colonists. But the Hutchinsons 
disliked to believe hearsay gossip. They re¬ 
fused to accredit the repeated, growing mur¬ 
mur against their next-door neighbors. 

“The trouble became greater. Boston was 
running red with scarlet-jacketed, British 
troops. The colonists were up in arms. The 
militia drilled secretly every night behind the 
Town Hall in a little patch of woods—in Ezra’s 


THE HOLE IN THE WAISTCOAT 51 

little village outside Boston-town. Affairs were 
shaping rapidly. 

“Late one night, Ezra was awakened by the 
sound of some one moving in the shrubs below 
the window. He got up in the dark room. 
Peering out from behind the heavy wooden 
shutters, he saw a pale flare of light which was 
snuffed instantly. As he watched, the light ap¬ 
peared again, nearer the house. He fancied he 
could discern a shadowy figure. Ezra tumbled 
hastily into his clothes. He crept down the 
stairs, unlatched the side door, and went out. 
But he could see no one. 

“Then he heard a whisper from the heavy 
shadows of the bushes. 

“I can’t find anything. They’re too clever 
to leave plans or messages about. He is await¬ 
ing us under the holly bush at the corner of the 
corn-field. We’ll separate and meet him there 
in ten minutes. You go north and I’ll go south. 
They’re asleep here.” 

“Ezra pondered hastily. Who could the he 
be ? Some secret messenger ? Some spy ? What 
did they want in his father’s house? All the 
musket and ball were safely hidden in an old 
well at the rear of the Town Hall, an old well 
whose top was covered over and hidden by a 
huge stone. All their arms and ammunition 


52 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

were stored there, for they drilled with wooden 
dummies. Could it be that these prowlers had 
been searching the house under the mistaken 
notion that the arms and ammunition were 
hidden there? 

* ‘Young Ezra smiled grimly. His mind was 
made up in a flash. His father was in Boston. 
He was alone in the house with his mother and 
the help. Captain Hutchinson had refused 
'him a commission with General Warren, 
chiefly because he disapproved of foppish 
waistcoats. He declared that a Hutchinson 
turned dude lacked real sand and sense. So 
Ezra had swallowed his chagrin and drilled his 
own, self-organized little company. 

“Fortunately it was a pitch-black night. 
Ezra knew every twist and turn to that spot 
under the holly tree. But to reach it would 
mean following after the other two who al¬ 
ready were ahead of him. He would be handi¬ 
capped at the outset for hearing the first part 
of the secret meeting and whatever the myster¬ 
ious he had to tell them. Ezra felt very sure 
that not a word must be lost. 

“Now there was only one way to get there 
as soon as the other two. He would have to go 
straight across the ploughed and fully planted 
corn-field. It was the only certain short-cut. 


THE HOLE IN THE. WAISTCOAT 53 

It was dangerously open ground, for the young 
corn had just started. But the field ran straight, 
to the rendezvous. 

“Ezra set out in his stockinged feet, hiding 
his heavy boots under a stone in the wall. He 
crept through the patch of ground with its 
young shoots of early corn. It was so dark he 
could hardly see his hand before him. But he 
had an excellent sense of direction, for he had 
been much in the woods. And he knew every 
stick and stone of the fields. Once he lay flat 
between the rows of dirt. He fancied he heard 
a step in the darkness. His problem grew 
more hazardous every moment. For when he 
came to the end of the ploughed ground, full 
in the open space, there was the holly bush, 
guarded by at least three pairs of sharp eyes 
and ears. If he should make a single mis¬ 
step, kick a stone or stumble, they would dis¬ 
cover his presence at once. 

“Ezra now crawled along, not daring to 
take an upright position. He was thankful 
for the darkness and his brown homespun 
suit. 

“He was now within thirty feet of the spot 
where the two were to meet the mysterious 
third. But thirty feet was too great a dis¬ 
tance to hear muffled whispers. He must get 


54 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

closer, no matter what danger was involved. 
If only the corn were grown! 

“He crept now with extreme caution. 
Every movement he made was vital on that 
soundless night in that open, unprotected 
space. If they should light a flare or a taper, 
nothing could save him from being dis¬ 
covered ! 

“His hands suddenly struck something 
damp and cold and yielding. For a moment 
Ezra’s breath caught in his throat. He had 
touched clothing, empty, flapping clothing. 

“Motionless he squatted on all fours wait¬ 
ing for the thing before him to make some 
further motion. But nothing happened. There 
came only a faint rustle in the underbrush be¬ 
yond the clearing. 

“Ezra put out an investigating hand slowly, 
cautiously. Still the thing stood there, rigid, 
upright. This time his exploring fingers struck 
a boot. But the boot was motionless, upright, 
embedded in the earth with the shoots of young 
corn about its feet. Emboldened by the silence, 
the lack of movement, Ezra discovered a sec¬ 
ond boot. 

“Something struck him smartly in the nose. 
He fell down, all but making an exclamation. 


THE HOLE IN THE WAISTCOAT 55 

“But it was only the flapping hem of a long 
cape. 

“Then he knew! The boys in the militia 
had promsied to rig up a dummy, an effigy to 
scare the crows, the starlings, and the jays 
away from the freshly sown seeds. The 
troublesome birds had nipped at the seeds and 
the young shoots. 

“A scare-crow,” smiled Blunder-Beth. 
“Just like we have nowadays!” 

The old lady nodded and went on: 

“Ezra’s quick fingers soon discovered that 
the dummy that flapped there was still very 
completely garbed. Discarded knee-breeches, 
high, heavy, worn boots, waistcoat, cape and 
three-cornered hat dipped low at the top with 
the cape hunched high. It must have made a 
realistic figure there, except where the cross¬ 
poles stuck out beyond the cape and above the 
head. That plainly proclaimed it to be a 
dummy. 

“Quickly Ezra stepped into the great boots, 
donned the clothes, pulled the hat low over 
his own face with the cape hunched high to con¬ 
ceal the fact that a living man had donned 
the clothes of a dummy. He took care that the 
cross-pole still projected stiffly beyond the 
cape, marking it instantly for an effigy, a fig- 


56 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

ure presumably to scare the thieving birds. 
Then he took on a very stiff, wooden pose. 

4 ‘He had scarcely assumed this disguise 
when he heard faint sounds in the darkness 
before him. The three prowlers had evidently 
met. He could now hear very distinctly. 

“ ‘Darker than a pocket,’ came one whisper. 

“ ‘ ’Tis that.’ 

“ ‘Whatnews?’ 

“At this point Ezra heard a little sound be¬ 
hind him. His heart must have jumped in his 
throat. He must have leaned rigidly against 
both the upright and cross-pole, scarcely dar¬ 
ing to breathe. 

“The three spies under the bush heard the 
sound also. Came a sharp scratching of flint, 
a flicker of light, a sputter of flame as they 
ignited a taper. The light licked out the dark¬ 
ness around Ezra. It revealed the stiff figure 
there with its arms ending in pole-ends. 

“A sharp whisper rasped, ‘It’s a fox—be¬ 
yond the dummy on the poles. Egad! A silver 
fox! The pelt’s worth a commission from His 
Majesty.’ 

One of the figures seemed to aim straight at 
Ezra as the boy cowered under the clothes on 
that pole. There was a flash, a boom, the pun- 


THE HOLE IN THE WAISTCOAT 57 

gent smell of powder from a heavy old pistol 
which carried a single ball. 

“The heavy pole in front of Ezra shook. The 
spy, a poor marksman, had sent his bullet 
ploughing straight against the cross-pole. It 
hit a knot—this very knot—and glanced off, 
passing sidewise through the waistcoat, out 
under Ezra’s extended arm, without so much 
as scratching him. The silver-gray fox fled 
safely, its life spared. 

“In the silence Ezra heard, ‘You’re a fool, 
firing shot like that, even for a fox. Weightier 
matters press.’ 

“ ‘Oh, these rebels sleep. They know noth¬ 
ing. I missed the fox, but I jarred the old 
dummy—even as His Majesty’s troops will jar 
the rebellious spirits of these colonists!’ 

“Then they listened. But evidently the shot 
had gone unheard. 

“ At midnight, tomorrow night, ’ a whis¬ 
per stated, ‘we followers of His Majesty will 
assemble behind the Town Hall. I have it on 
secret authority that the rebels have hidden a 
goodly supply of ammunition and arms in an 
ancient well which lies hidden under a flat 
stone there. We will appropriate these . . . 
Furthermore, in the shed of Elder Burlingtop, 
in a knot-hole above the door, are hidden all 


58 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


the plans and charts of high import. I will 
commission you, Morningside, to go there with 
all speed at nightfall tomorrow. We will meet 
here again afterwards.’ 

“After further low whispers, they went 
away. 

“Ezra waited until he was certain they had 
left. His fingers fluttered over the waistcoat, 
finding the hole of the bullet that had missed 
him so narrowly, thanks to this sturdy hickory 
pole and the deflecting knot in it. He smiled 
boyishly as his fingers recognized one of his 
own fine waistcoats, a bit shabbier than the 
others, and hence high-handedly discarded. 
The boys had evidently taken it as a joke on 
him to deck an effigy and to have it stand guard 
over a corn-field. But from that moment it 
became something more to Ezra than a forlorn 
and faded waistcoat. It was a permanent re¬ 
minder of how closely he had stood to death. 
And the old hickory pole had served as a crude 
coat-of-mail that had saved him just as surely 
as armored plate would have done. 

“Before daybreak, Ezra, aided by his mili¬ 
tia-men, secretly and silently removed all 
stores, plans and ammunition to a new and 
safer hiding-spot. Later they caught the two 
Morningsides, father and son, along with the 


THE HOLE IN THE WAISTCOAT 


59 


British regular. Young Ezra, himself, accom¬ 
panied the three captives to Boston where he 
joined his father. There, to Ezra’s delight, he 
was given a full commission because of the 
service he had rendered. And he served well 
through many other daring exploits. 

“As for the waistcoat, it was the only one 
of Ezra’s beautiful collection that he after¬ 
wards prized. The plain continental uniform 
had completely cured him of his foppish 
hobby.” 



IV 

Tim's Tarpaulin Ghost 

Steven looked up from the road-map he had 
been studying. 

“In a week,” he told his cousin David, 
“we’ll take the car and go on that camping 
trip out in the country.” 

“Where’re you going?” demanded Blunder- 
Beth. 

“Going to trek into the woods behind Black 
Lake.” 

Grandmother Stanton looked up from her 
knitting. 

“If you’re in the vicinity of Black Lake, 
you’ll still see the stone masonry on the old 
haunted house. The building itself has since 
been razed.” 

The boys glanced at her quickly. 

“What’s the story?” demanded Steven. 
“We’ll look the place over.” 

“Beth,” suggested their grandmother, 
“won’t you run up to the old chest in the gar¬ 
ret? There’s something sewed into some can¬ 
vas there—old yellow canvas. Just bring it 
down, please. There’s a real ghost story tied 
inside that sewed-up canvas.” 


60 


TIM’S TARPAULIN GHOST 61 

Beth skipped back in record-time, trium¬ 
phantly displaying the old canvas. It was 
sewed up on two sides. David neatly severed 
the stitches with his jack-knife. 

A heavy, stiff canvas hat, slightly resem¬ 
bling a fireman’s helmet, came to view. 

“It’s a tarpaulin, the stiff waterproof head- 
gear at one time affected by sea-faring men. 
It’s been largely displaced by the modem 
sou’wester . . .I’ll tell you the story of Tim’s 
Tarpaulin Ghost.” 

“Who was Tim?” inquired Nancy eagerly. 

“Timothy Sheldon was an able-bodied sea¬ 
man on the old Silver Spray under command 
of Capt. Nahum Hutchinson, your great-great- 
grandfather. Now this Timothy was a brawny 
giant of a fellow, six feet two, with a barrel 
chest and fists like a prize-fighter. But for all 
his size and strength, he never could be coaxed, 
harassed, or tantalized into any type of 
quarrel. He refused to fight or to be embroiled 
in one. So his shipmates on the Silver Spray 
foolishly called him Timid Tim. Even that 
didn’t distress him. He seemed a great hulk 
of a man, as gentle as a rabbit. Then his ship¬ 
mates tried bullying him, ‘ragging him on,’ 
as yon boys say. But Tim held his temper. 
He merely smiled indifferently and ignored 


62 BLUNDER'S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

their efforts. In fact, trying to stir up Timid 
Tim soon turned into tame sport. 

“Now Capt. Nahum had just docked the 
Silver Spray with a heavy cargo of coffee and 
spices from South America. He gave his men 
shore leave. They hadn’t been on land an hour 
before they learned of the mysterious ghost at 
Black Lake. The year before, a ship carpenter 
had gone trapping in the section around the 
abandoned, old farm-house. He took up tem¬ 
porary headquarters in the empty dwelling. 
Later he disappeared completely. He was 
never heard of from that day to this, although 
his traps had captured half a dozen excellent 
specimens. And the pelts were worth a good 
sum even for an able ship carpenter. The 
ship carpenters organized a search. They 
combed the woods thereabouts. Several famous 
guides and trappers helped them. But it was 
to no avail. William Faraday, the missing 
man, had vanished as completely as if he’d 
been buried at sea. People roundabouts did 
not soon forget the occurrence. Henceforth 
they began to shun the abandoned, question¬ 
able, old farm-house. The vanished ship car¬ 
penter had been popular among the men. He 
wasn’t known to have an enemy. This made 
the disappearance seem all the more ominous 


TIM’S TARPAULIN GHOST 


63 


and sinister. Whispers that the house was 
haunted only strengthened the mystery. 

“One night, some villager became lost in the 
woods. Instead of regaining his bearings, he 
came out quite unexpectedly by the haunted 
farm-house where William Faraday had dis¬ 
appeared. There was a full moon. It tinselled 
the weather-beaten, old homestead with silver. 
Everything stood out as clear as if the first 
frost had fallen. The villager didn’t relish 
the mis-turn he had made, recalling all the con¬ 
tradictory, unsavory tales about the house. So 
he started to hurry by the silent, deserted, old 
place. As he came opposite an uncurtained 
window in the great kitchen at the rear, a shut¬ 
ter snapped suddenly, as if flung by unseen 
fingers. Later he declared that there wasn’t 
even a breath of wind stirring. Startled at the 
sudden sound, he glanced towards the dark 
window. The moonlight piped the sashes with 
white. But he saw something besides moon¬ 
light in that old window.” 

Blunder-Beth leaned forward so anxiously 
that she lost her balance. She fell with a loud 
bump onto the floor. But none of them noted 
her. Their eyes were centered on Grandmother 
Stanton. Their minds beheld that deserted, 
brooding old house, the black window, limned 
out in moonlight. 


64 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


4 4 As he looked,” she continued, “he saw 
something white. He uttered a loud exclama¬ 
tion, he was so startled. Inside that dark win¬ 
dow he discerned a skeleton! It moved, ever 
so slightly. Then he fled, temporarily routed 
of his senses. He told everyone that he’d seen 
Faraday’s ghost—that the old place was surely 
haunted. A few nights later some bold spirit 
hid there to verify the story of the skeleton in 
the window. This second man returned, even 
more emphatic than the first. Vividly he told 
of the bleached skeleton that lurked inside that 
kitchen—a skeleton which stood out as white 
as if it had been holystoned. Some of the 
jests and the skepticism began to ebb away. 
Three of the most hard-headed doubters vol¬ 
unteered to go together. They declared that 
they would later enter the house, search it from 
foundation to garret to find what was lurking 
inside. Of course the other two men had fled, 
without trying to follow up what they declared 
they’d seen.” 

David was fingering the stout tarpaulin 
brim. 

4 4 My! ” he exclaimed . 4 4 It’s stiff and sharp! ’ ’ 

Grandmother Stanton smiled . 4 4 Bear that in 
mind, how stiff and sharp the brim of that 
tarpaulin is! For that’s where Tim comes 


TIM’S TARPAULIN GHOST 


65 


into tlie story—later . . . The three villagers 
went on the first night that the moon was 
scheduled by the almanac to he full. They hid 
in the bushes, watching the moonlight mount 
up the side of the house until the kitchen 
windows lay bathed in revealing, silver light. 
Then, promptly at midnight, a dead-white 
skeleton appeared to quiver and vibrate in the 
darkness behind the window. 

“The three men dashed out from their hid¬ 
ing-spots. Two entered the kitchen by the rear 
door, one by the side entrance. The old place 
had never been locked. They struck lights. 
They stared about them, around the damp, 
dilapidated flooring, at the yawning, blackened 
fireplace, at the forlorn emptiness of the room. 
Dust and neglect lay heavy everywhere. There 
wasn’t anything as big as a mouse inside. They 
hurried through the house. They found noth¬ 
ing—not a thing to account for the skeleton 
all three of them had plainly seen a short time 
before. They re-entered the kitchen. They 
must have talked together in low whispers. 
They examined the window through which the 
phantom had been seen. Dust lay there heavily. 
Even the old floor was sagged and warped and 
broken in many places. The huge wooden 
shutters moaned and creaked with many of 


&6 BLUNDER'S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

the swivels missing. Three of the windows 
carried frayed old strings which drooped from 
the tattered shades, wound about the rollers 
at the tops of the windows. The other windows 
were bare of shades. 

“They searched the cellar again. It had a 
hard dirt bottom. The great stones of the wall 
showed little mortar. It had cracked, and 
fallen out with the passing of time and from 
neglect. The stones sagged unevenly. But 
there was nothing there to excite suspicion. 
The bare, hard dirt showed no sign of boot- 
marks, although a skeleton could scarcely be 
expected to leave foot-prints behind. Com¬ 
pletely baffled, they returned to their homes. 
They could not explain what they’d seen. 
People now shunned the place more than ever. 
They felt that something evil was afoot there, 
that some unknown danger lurked about. The 
house lay close to Black Lake, a body of water, 
half-fresh and half-salt, which emptied into 
the ocean by a narrow channel.” 

“I think I know what the danger was!” 
exclaimed Blunder-Beth. “Let me take your 
pencil, David, and a page out of your note¬ 
book. I’ll write down my guess and show it to 
you when Grandmother has explained the rid¬ 
dle and how Timid Tim laid the ghost.” 


TIM’S TARPAULIN GHOST 


67 


Beth scribbled one word on the bit of paper. 
Tantalizingly she doubled it up in her palm. 

The old lady continued, “Then a retired sea- 
captain who doted on phantoms and ghosts 
offered a reward of twenty dollars to whoso¬ 
ever should either lay the ghost or explain its 
presence. Other useless investigations fol¬ 
lowed. One man even fired straight through 
the skeleton, breaking a pane of glass. But 
the phantom had merely continued to mock 
him—finally disappearing with a long wail. 
Other aspirants for the reward declared that 
they saw nothing, no sign of a spectral skele¬ 
ton. So these contradictory reports from 
equally dependable investigators only deep¬ 
ened the mystery surrounding the haunted 
house. 

“This was the situation when Timid Tim 
came ashore from the Silver Spray. The re¬ 
ward was posted outside the tavern door. Tim 
read it, lurching there in his heavy boots as if 
he still felt the roll of a deck under his feet. 
One of his mates taunted him. 4 Say, Tim, 
been’t yer going to nab that ther’ ghost? Jes’ 
fetch ’im a wallop wid one o’ them helfy hams 
of yourn. Say, that ther’ ghost ’ud die o’ 
fright, jes’ a-lampin’ a look o’ yer, Tim.’ And 
so on— 


68 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

“Tim didn’t answer—then. He was think¬ 
ing deeply. After a bit he grunted and said, 
‘Mebbe I kin, and mebbe I kaint. I’ll low for 
to try.’ Then he strode off into the woods, al¬ 
though it was high noon. He searched Black 
Lake and the woods roundabout to test out 
some theory he was forming. Then he went 
into the cellar and spent some time there. 
When he emerged his clothes were covered 
with dust and dampness. But there was a grim 
smile on his lips. Anyone seeing him then 
would hardly have called him Timid Tim. He 
looked like some young gladiator about to en¬ 
ter the arena.” 

“Was he armed?” demanded Nancy. 

“No, except for his own strength and cour¬ 
age.” 

“Funny idea, running into unknown dan¬ 
gers like that, without any weapons,” objected 
Steven. 

“Captain Hutchinson didn’t send his men 
ashore armed. Handy weapons are dangerous 
associates for idle sailors ashore and looking 
for a rollicking time. Many of them are too 
hot-headed to be entrusted with arms. So 
Timothy was bound by the captain’s orders. .. 
As darkness approached, he took his position 
in a thick clump of evergreens not ten feet 


TIM’S TARPAULIN GHOST 


69 


from the window. He told Capt. Nahum after¬ 
wards that he hadn’t a ghost of a notion in 
his head about what he’d do when he saw the 
ghost. But he was confident that when the 
apparition appeared he’d come by some in¬ 
spiration. 

“So he waited, while the hours ticked by. 
Darkness fell. The house was lighted up 
faintly by a crescent moon. But the night 
was vididly starlit. The black window stared 
at him, glimmering eerily. As midnight ap¬ 
proached, Tim sat in strained attention. One 
thing was clear. He wouldn’t make the mis¬ 
take of running into the kitchen to look for 
the phantom. He’d drop into the cellar by 
the nearest open window. At midnight he 
fancied he heard a faint sound inside the old 
house. He must have bent forward, every 
nerve strung tight, a huge hulk of brawn and 
muscle. As he looked he saw something white 
flicker inside. It seemed to move slowly, but 
surely. He stared until his eyeballs must have 
hurt him. He saw plainly the ghostly form 
of a marble-pale skeleton swaying inside that 
old window. 

“Then Tim’s fingers flashed to the stiff, 
broad brim of his tarpaulin. He yanked the 
covering from his head. Hi s powerful arm 


70 BLUNDER'S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


shot out. He hurled the tarpaulin straight 
as a dart through the middle pane. There was 
a sharp splinter of glass as the hat hurtled 
through. By now Tim had ducked through 
the sizable, low window into the cellar. The 
sound of the shattered glass would fool any 
skulker into thinking that Tim had gone into 
the kitchen like all the others. 

“Tim had left his heavy boots in the ever¬ 
greens. He dropped in his stockinged feet 
onto the hard cellar bottom. His ears were 
very keen. And he knew instantly that some¬ 
thing moved in the darkness there along the 
opposite wall. Then he heard a faint scratch¬ 
ing. He crept nearer. He knew some one 
was trying to flee by one of the low windows. 
He had fixed firmly in his mind the position of 
all of them. His ears told him that whoever 
moved there was attempting to crawl out the 
second window from the bulkhead into the 
underbrush. 

“With a powerful movement Timid Tim 
reached out. His great fingers closed on a 
dark shape that wiggled and writhed. The 
contest was brief. With the tarred rope from 
his pockets Tim securely lashed his captive. 
Upon bearing him out into the open he found 
he had captured a swarthy foreigner. The 



HE SAW PLAINLY THE GHOSTLY FORM OF A SKELETON 














72 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


fellow sputtered incoherently. Tim took him, 
trussed as he was, and gagged him. For he 
was afraid that the fellow would signal to 
others. Then Tim hid him in the bushes, safe 
from sight. 

“He now returned to the kitchen for his 
tarpaulin that he had flung through the glass, 
and presumably through the skeleton that a 
bullet could not harm. There Tim found that 
he had really captured a ghost with his sharp 
tarpaulin.” 

“I don’t understand—” began Blunder- 
Beth. 

Nancy quickly silenced her. 

“Tim’s tarpaulin had crashed through the 
window pane, thereby expending much of its 
force. It also smashed through something 
else. It went through the ghost and hooked 
it.” 

“How?” they all demanded. 

“Tim found his tarpaulin caught in an old 
black window-shade, where it had slit a gash. 
The hat had been caught and stopped by its 
crown. On that black window-shade, as it lay 
completely unrolled with the tarpaulin hold¬ 
ing it down, was painted in white a crude, but 
rather realistic figure of a skeleton. More¬ 
over, the string on the shade was long enough 
for some one lurking in the cellar beneath with 


TIM'S TARPAULIN GHOST 


73 


the end in his hand, to pull down the shade 
with the rope threaded through one of the 
breaks in the old flooring.” 

Blunder-Beth clapped her hands. “Oh, I 
know. Just like Black Art. Only the painted 
white skeleton stood out against the black 
shade in the dark kitchen—” 

“And,” went on David excitedly, “when the 
fluttering curtain had been pulled down for a 
few moments, the fellow under the break in 
the floor merely let go the string and the shade 
rolled up with a snap, with the skeleton com¬ 
pletely hidden on what looked like a common, 
rolled-up curtain in the old kitchen. That 
explains why a bullet couldn’t hurt it—also 
the fancied wail.” 

“That’s it exactly,” agreed their grand¬ 
mother. “And the fellow in the cellar merely 
crawled out to safety before a search was 
under way.” 

“Who did it and why?” asked Nancy. 

“It all came out later. The foreigner con¬ 
fessed. He was one of a band of smugglers—” 

With triumphant eyes Beth held up her 
scrap of paper for all to read. On it she had 
written in a big, scrawling hand one word, 
“Smugglers ” 

She made a playful face at Steven. ‘ ‘ That’s 
one time I didn’t blunder!” 


74 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

Steven laughed back through his heavy 
rimmed spectacles. “But you did. You 
blundered into the truth!” 

“These smugglers,” resumed their grand¬ 
mother, “put ashore through the narrow 
channel connecting the sea with Black Lake. 
They landed their illegal cargo in the dark¬ 
ness, and concealed it under the stones in the 
cellar wall. Tim had unearthed a pretty cache 
as he had searched that afternoon. The smug¬ 
glers had heard, in some way, of William 
Faraday’s strange disappearance. They de¬ 
clared that they knew nothing of the occur¬ 
rence, and nothing could ever be proved 
against them on that score. One of the band 
hit upon the bright idea of making the place 
seem haunted by Faraday’s ghost. So the 
crude skeleton was painted and played for 
the benefit of any who ventured near the 
smugglers’ hiding-place. They hoped, by 
haunting the house, to keep everyone away.” 

“So,” breathed Blunder-Beth, “Tim got 
the reward for laying the ghost.” 

“Yes,” nodded their grandmother. “And 
they no longer called him Timid Tim. They 
named him Tarpaulin Tim, because of the 
ghost he had brought to earth by the sturdy 
old canvas hat.” 


V 

Brown Dust 

Blunder-Beth wagged her head sagely. 
With mock seriousness she frowned into the 
dark old chest under the creaking eaves. 

“You can never tell,” she affirmed, “by the 
outside of a package what’s inside it.” 

“Unless it’s alive,” objected Steven, “has 
claws, and can growl.” 

From beneath an embossed scabbard Blun- 
der-Beth picked up a tarnished silver box. It 
was round; an elaborate coat-of-arms had once 
been etched on it. But time had blurred its 
outlines to mere surface scratches. 

Beth shook the box vigorously, holding it 
near her ear. 

Then she began to sneeze. She sneezed until 
the tears ran down her round face. Her stubby 
nose took on a carnelian hue. 

“It’s evidently something to be sneezed at,” 
remarked Steven facetiously. “ Whatever’s 
the matter, Beth? What have you blundered 
into—now?” 

“Kerchoo!” he ended abruptly. 

He sneezed six times in succession. 


75 


76 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


Nancy backed away from them, laughing. 
“It seems to be catching.” 

They hurried down the stairs after her. 

Grandmother Stanton emerged from the 
sewing-room. She glanced at the three, Beth 
and Steven red of eyes and nose. 

“Whatever—” she began. 

“It’s this little old box,” Blunder-Beth ex¬ 
plained, shaking it defiantly. 

A fresh paroxysm of sneezing seized her. 

“You might call it an early time form of 
tear-gas,” Grandmother Stanton mused, “with 
none of its dangerous qualities. Come into 
my room and I’ll tell you about that silver box 
before I water my plants.” 

They followed her into the snug little room. 
She wiped her spectacles. The round silver 
box rested at a safe distance on her sewing- 
table. 

Soon she took off the cover. The three peeked 
inside. 

“Why, it’s nothing but brown dust!” ex¬ 
claimed Blunder-Beth disappointedly, scratch¬ 
ing at her nose which still persisted in tickling. 

“Huh!” offered Steven. “I know what it 
is. Snuff!” 

“Gracious!” jested Beth. “What a disagree¬ 
able habit for a Hutchinson!” 


BROWN DUST 


77 


She stared primly down her nose at her 
grandmother. There was laughter in her brown 
eyes. For their ancestors were a fetish with 
the old lady. She never tired of talking of 
their early exploits; of their sterling, intrepid 
adventures on sea and land. 

She now looked up smiling. 

“Habits are peculiar things,” she reminded 

them. ‘ * Just like ridiculous fashions. People 

then, as now, followed the prevalent style like 
so many sheep. General Washington, the 
Marquis de Lafayette, and many distinguished 
folk of the day took snuff—just as people now¬ 
adays powder the outside of their noses, rather 
than the inside .” 1 

Impishly Blunder-Beth squinted down her 
nose at a single freckle on its end. Then she 
gave a quick glance at Nancy. 

Nancy flushed. Instinctively her own hand 
went up to her nose. 

“That’s a touchdown!” recognized Steven. 
“The first half goes to grandmother!” 

“Well,” protested Nancy mildly. “That 
was such a horrid—such a disgusting habit, 
wasn’t it?” 

“But I’m not defending the habit,” declared 
their grandmother, frankly. “We can’t ban¬ 
ish facts because we disapprove of them. And 


78 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

I’m certain the custom soon went out of 
style . . . But this snuff-box holds a story— 
or rather its brown dust does. It once be¬ 
longed to Capt. Nahum Hutchinson. It sailed 
with him on the Silver Spray in many a strange 
port. It walked the bridge with him by night, 
under the stars, when the heavens were his 
only road-map for finding the right lane 
through strange seas.” 

“My!” exclaimed Steven. “I wouldn’t want 
to drive the car by aid of the stars alone!” 

“ Nahum grew to prize it highly, as one does 
any old, familiar thing that has been close to 
one through many strange adventures. The 
way he came into possession of it was like 
this: 

“One time he came ashore after a tedious 
voyage around the Horn. The present captain 
was just recovering from a touch of yellow 
fever. He had been desperately ill. Nahum, 
then a young fellow, was first mate. He as¬ 
sumed command and brought the Silver Spray 
safely to dock. The captain’s name was Ben¬ 
jamin Alden. He thought a lot of young 
Nahum, admired him—knew that he would de¬ 
velop into an able skipper. But the young 
man was modest, very modest. The moment he 
had docked the Silver Spray, young Nahum 


BROWN DUST 


79 


went ashore. He didn’t even wait for Capt. 
Alden’s thanks, accompanied by his gruff, 
brief words of commendation. The captain 
wanted to give him something that he prized. 
And Nahum had always seemed to admire the 
silver snuff-box.” 

“Huh! Did the fellows take snuff then, 
too?” asked Steven scornfully. 

“I imagine so. But, if they did, it meant no 
more to them than drinking coffee does nowa¬ 
days. It was merely a passing fad. We may 
consider it with amusement and tolerance, just 
as we recall buckled knee-breeches, embroid¬ 
ered waistcoats— 

“And long hair all curled and braided and 
dolled up with a ribbon,” added Steven for 
full measure. 

She nodded. “So Capt. Alden had hardly 
returned home before he commissioned his son 
Ezra to take the silver snuff-box as a slight 
token of his father’s esteem to Nahum Hut¬ 
chinson for bringing the Silver Spray safely 
to anchor. Ezra Alden was then about sixteen. 
His people lived in a little cabin in a rugged, 
untraversed locality in the deep woods. It 
was at least ten miles from the port. Captain 
Alden kept only one saddle-horse. One of 
his men had traveled inland on important busi- 


80 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


ness, with horse and saddle-hags heavily 
packed. That left young Ezra no alternative 
except to walk through the deep woods to 
Nahum’s home, carrying the silver snuff-box. 
A walk like that meant little then. You know,” 
Grandmother Stanton smiled down on Steven, 
“they didn’t depend upon the motor to whisk 
them everywhere—” 

Steven smiled back broadly. 

“My, what a lot they missed, didn’t they, 
grandmother!” 

“In time, yes. In health, no.” 

Blunder-Beth stirred uneasily. She wanted 
the story. And she didn’t wish Grandmother 
Stanton to read them a lecture on their lazi¬ 
ness—just then. The tarnished snuff-box 
looked too intriguing. 

“Never mind,” laughed their grandmother. 
“The motor car’s a great help to old folk like 
me. Don’t know what I’d do without yours, 
Steven. And you’re a very skilful pilot.” 

Steven made her a low bow. 

“I’m running true to form then. It seems 
to me I’ve heard somewhere that there were 
many captains and pilots and other titled per¬ 
sonages among those ancient and honorable 
Hutchinsons.” 

She laughed at his raillery, and continued: 


BROWN DUST 


81 


44 Ezra set out with a knapsack strapped to his 
shoulders. It carried a bite of food—pungent 
smoked ham and hardtack. In his belt he 
wore an old horse-pistol.” 

4 4 Only one ball in a pistol!” objected Steven. 
4 4 It must have been a slow task crowding down 
the load after the discharge. Suppose he ran 
into a pack of wolves! There wouldn’t be 
much left of him after he had fired one shot.” 

44 There weren’t wolves in that vicinity then. 
They frequented a section farther north. There 
were bob-cats and bears aplenty—but no 
wolves.” 

44 Well, a pistol was better than nothing,” 
decided Beth. 

44 He started shortly after noon. He could 
make the trip easily before nightfall. He 
would spend the night with Nahum. Perhaps 
they would go on a trip for eels. And they 
would have a jolly time ... In some way 
Ezra lost the trail. I don’t remember how. 
But he was a good woodsman. So, after a time 
he came back into that narrow, overgrown foot¬ 
path. But it was much later than he had 
planned upon. Dusk had already begun to 
fall. It drops swiftly in the deep woods, where 
the trees make a dark canopy overhead, blot¬ 
ting out the very sky. In crawling through a 


82 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

thick clump of underbrush he had lost his pis¬ 
tol. He had noted its absence too late. He 
wouldn’t go back. That would be foolhardy. 

“ So he started out again, quite unarmed this 
time; nibbling a bite of fragrant ham and 
some hardtack. The woods grew thicker and 
thicker. The path became a mere thread in 
the gathering dusk, a snuff-colored thread. 
He had yet three miles to travel before coming 
to the Hutchinson homestead. But Ezra 
strode along, taking care to cling to the dim 
trail. The heavy underbrush must have 
scratched at his clothing, must have slapped 
at his shoulders. Full darkness had now 
fallen. It was a very narrow trail and used 
only as a short cut when the cart-path was not 
followed. 

“Once Ezra fancied he heard a sound. He 
stopped and listened. But the true location 
of sound is difficult to place in deep, dark 
woods. Now it seemed to come from behind 
him; now from a thick clump of bushes op¬ 
posite a huge hollow pine-tree, which he and 
Nahum knew well. They had once hived a 
swarm of bees there, and removed some twenty 
pounds of honey. He wondered if the bees still 
loaded their sweets in the gaunt, crooked, hol¬ 
low trunk. A faint moon brought out the 


BROWN DUST 


83 


gnarled outline of the sprawling old ever¬ 
green.’ ? 

She paused; her eyes looked as excited as a 
girl’s. 

“But it revealed something else, directly in 
front of him. Two balls of fire glittered there 
in the darkness. They seemed to be motion¬ 
less, to stand still, in midair, some three feet 
from the ground. Then they vanished like 
some will-o’-the-wisp. Ezra knew what they 
signified. Some wild beast had prowled there, 
his eyes gleaming through the darkness. The 
size of those glowing balls of fire, their dis¬ 
tance above the ground told him that a black 
bear blocked the path ahead. Bruin must 
have sniffed out his presence from the remain¬ 
ing strips of ham in his knapsack. Bears were 
seldom ugly except when ravenous for food— 
or cornered—or hurt. 

“Ezra paused abruptly. The fiery eyes ap¬ 
peared again. This time they gleamed nearer 
and closer to the ground. Hungry Bruin was 
walking up on all-fours to meet this moving 
thing laden with the enticing smell. A low 
growl followed. Ezra reached down hurriedly. 
He felt about on the rough trail for a club, a 
branch or a stone—something he could use in 


84 BLUNDER'S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


warding off a possible attack. But there was 
nothing. The path lay bare of underbrush. 

“The bear came nearer, the scent of the ham 
hurrying its clumsy feet. Ezra pulled out the 
meat. He flung it straight at the yellow eyes. 
Came another low growl, a swishing in the 
dark—a faint, crunching sound. The bear was 
eating the meat. . . . Now, Ezra had com¬ 
peted in many a jumping contest. He was an 
adept at what you call the Running Broad, 
Steven. So, while Bruin nuzzled the scraps 
of smoked ham, Ezra made a tremendous leap 
over the bear’s back. He cleared the creature, 
but dug a heel smartly into its side as he went 
over. In the darkness he had miscalculated 
the distance. 

“The bear roared with surprise and anger. 
Something swished through the air. There 
was a tearing of cloth. Bruin’s forepaw had 
clutched a shred from Ezra’s coat, barely 
grazing his arm. The bear set after him in 
aroused pursuit. 

“The boy leaped nimbly for the rim of the 
hole in the old hollow tree. He swayed there, 
barely finding toe-space. The rotten wood 
began to give way. A loud crack sounded. 
Ezra plunged feet first into the heart of the 
hollow trunk. As he slid into the dark in- 


BROWN DUST 


85 


terior, a cloud of dust and spongy bits of rot¬ 
ten wood rattled down. He wondered if an 
angry army of honey-bees would boil up like 
a cloud of steam. He would then be between 
two lively fires—enraged bees and a savage 
bear! 

“But no angry, humming protest came from 
inside; no seething swarm of incensed insects 
poured forth. That was lucky. But Bruin 
was still coming on, mad to the heart from the 
blow he had received. And he was ravenous 
for more ham. The scraps had been a mere 
tantalizing tidbit to arouse his hunger. His 
muzzle was in the air. Ezra had dropped his 
knapsack when he had leaped over Bruin. 
The bear had sniffed at it; torn it to bits, 
where the scent of ham still slung; and 
plunged on after the boy. 

“Ezra considered himself trapped. Un¬ 
less— But he didn’t relish a close-up en¬ 
counter with a thoroughly aroused and rav¬ 
enous bear. He was wedged too tightly into 
the hollow trunk to defend himself well. He 
attempted to climb up. But the sides were too 
slick. Bits of rotten wood again filtered down. 
He put his hands on the edge of the hole—hop¬ 
ing to vault out and give Bruin a run—for 
bears are clumsy pursuers. But the rotten 


86 BLUNDER'S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


tree gave way, only enlarging the aperture. 
Ezra was certainly caught in an unpleasant 
predicament. Once more he tried to find toe- 
space. He might beat the bear up the tree. 
As he strained about, something thudded 
softly to the ground inside. Instinctively 
Ezra grasped after it. Luck was with him, 
for the first time. He found it at once-” 

“The silver snuff-box,” breathed Blunder- 
Beth, her eyes wide with excitement. 

“The silver snuff-box,” repeated their 
grandmother. “Quicker than it takes to tell, 
Ezra seized it and pulled off the tightly fitting 
cover. He flung the entire contents, the whole 
box of strong snuff, straight in Bruin’s up¬ 
turned muzzle—full into the bear’s eyes and 
nose. 

“Bruin paused, reared, pawed desperately 
at his muzzle. Then came a series of snuffs 
and sneezes and grunts. The bear got down 
and rolled over and over, pawing at his nose 
and eyes. He roared with surprise and pain. 
Ezra had now made toe-space within the dried, 
decayed old trunk. He clambered out, and 
hastily retreated down the path. He reached 
the Hutchinson homestead without further 
mishap. 

“He and Nahum then returned, armed with 



BROWN DUST 


87 


muskets and tarred rope. They found Bruin 
still roaming about, blindly crashing in the 
bushes and digging at his muzzle. Nahum 
flung a lasso over him and captured him alive. 
When they had him firmly lashed to a stake 
behind the Hutchinson house, they poured lav¬ 
ing buckets of cold water over his head. In 
time the smarting left. Bruin was later sold. 
. . . So, for once, a few ounces of this self¬ 
same, distasteful brown dust played a promi¬ 
nent, valiant part in saving the day for young 
Ezra Alden. Only the snuff-box stood between 
him and an enraged bear!” 



VI 

Said with Spears 

“The sun edged up, like a pallid pearl, be¬ 
yond the splendor of the sea. Palm fronds 
clacked in the wind, like the rattle of castanets, 
or the hollow beat of drums. . . . This was 
the setting on one momentous day far from 
the beaten trails,” murmured Grandma Stan¬ 
ton with dreamy, reminiscent eyes. 

“Sounds like On the Road to Mandalay,” 
appraised Steven, peering through his heavy- 
rimmed spectacles. “There’s something about 
these queer, foreign parts that captivates a 
fellow’s interest. I’m going to travel-’ ’ 

Blunder-Beth came romping in. She 
brandished a long spear. Its point was rusty 
metal, its shaft bamboo, much notched and 
gnarled. On its flaring end glowered five 
irregular, empty holes—a few inches apart. 

“What’re these holes, grandmother?” Beth 
asked, holding the end of the shaft under her 
chin and running her fingers down as if she 
played a violin. 

“I’ll allow each of you an opportunity to 
guess. Now, Beth, put on your thinking-cap. ” 

88 


SAID WITH SPEARS 


89 


Blunder-Beth frowned with mock concern. 
She wrinkled the end of her stubby nose. 

“I should say that the holes might equalize 
the weight of the spear, so the Malays could 
throw it more truly.” 

“Not bad, but that’s not the answer. Next, 
Nancy-” 

‘ 4 Something to do with appeasing their gods, 
maybe. Some kink in their beliefs, to ward off 
evil spirits. 

“Good! But not quite right. Now, Steven, 
the honors are abandoned to you.” 

“I’ve heard of singing spears,” mused 
Steven, “among some savage tribes. Were 
there pegs in these holes fastening thin strips 
of bamboo strung between, so that when they 
were flung they made a long, humming wail to 
confound their enemies?” 

“That answer shows the most ingenuity. 
But all of you are wrong.” 

“What was it then?” they chorused. 

“Ah, that’s the story,” she tantalized them. 

They waited, for she would tell the tale in 
her own good time. 

“Was it about Capt. Nahum, as usual?” 
asked the incorrigible Blunder-Beth. 44 Seems 
to me he fell into more adventures than Rob¬ 
inson Crusoe!” 


90 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

“He did. This is a spear he captured on 
one dangerous occasion. . . . 

“At one time Nahum’s father was stationed 
on a little, out-of-the-way island in the Malay 
Straits. He was a scientist, you know. He 
was then making a splendid collection of the 
insect life there. Nahum’s mother was dead. 
So the boy traveled everywhere with his 
father, becoming a veritable globe-trotter at a 
tender age. Now, this little speck of an island 
was like a great spore off the Malay Straits. 
It didn’t even own a name then. And I *m not 
quite certain now which one it was. But it 
doesn’t matter. They ’re much alike. ’ ’ 

“Were there cannibals there?” asked Beth, 
wide-eyed. 

“Cannibalism was a common custom among 
the Malays then. But Mr. Hutchinson 
dropped anchor inside a little coral atoll. 
They lived in the little ketch-rigged ship which 
he had equipped especially for the expedition. 
In the stern lay a couple of ten-pounders, 
sturdy little cannon for those days, and dis¬ 
tinctly superior to the native spear and kris. 
Malay weapons were effective only at close 
range. In addition, The North Star was 
equipped with fowling-pieces and pistols 
aplenty, as well as an ugly assortment of cut- 


SAID WITH SPEARS 


91 


lasses. Mr. Hutchinson was risking no hap¬ 
hazard encounter with the Malays. There 
were also many boxes of gunpowder. The 
savages little liked the flash and boom of this 
unknown monster, which the men with skins 
like pearls employed. They feared the white 
man’s god. 

“So Mr. Hutchinson considered there was 
little danger in the expedition. They set port 
and starboard watches night and day. No 
swarm of proas could surprise them in the 
dark. Nor did the natives attempt an attack. 
A few warning booms from the cannon and 
several impressive displays of the power of 
gunpowder held them at an awed and safe dis¬ 
tance. Mr. Hutchinson’s party went ashore in 
full daylight, keeping away from the jungle 
as much as possible. And he always took 
along a half-dozen men, armed to the teeth, as 
they used to say. The savages feared those 
dark sticks, straighter than the bamboo, which 
belched fire, fury and swift death, if the white 
man were molested. Those milk-faced men 
worshiped strange gods, who guarded them 
with fiery strength, quite beyond the puny 
power of kris, spear, and poison darts. . . . 
The little expedition prospered. Many rare 
specimens went aboard daily. 


92 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

“One night the first mate, a young fellow 
named Peter Graham, came to Mr. Hutchin¬ 
son. The sea glimmered like a sheet of dark 
enamel illuminated with flecks of molten sil¬ 
ver—the reflected stars. The moon crept up¬ 
ward until it lay like a bright doubloon on the 
beaded sky. Inland, the shadowy shapes of 
palms cut the heavens like huge feather-dust¬ 
ers. The muffled chirrup of night-birds could 
be heard, accompanied by the lap-lap of un¬ 
ruly waves as they licked against the dark- 
colored rocks near the shore. ” 

“I can picture it, grandmother. Just like a 
painted scene,” murmured Nancy dreamily. 

“It must have appeared more like a picture 
than reality, it was so silent and strange. . . . 
Peter, the first mate, appeared very eager. He 
was a tall, straight young fellow, probably 
twenty or so. And he was a great favorite 
with young Nahum, who was then perhaps 
about seventeen. 

“ ‘Mr. Hutchinson,’ he said, ‘I’ve been try¬ 
ing to muster up courage to come to you for 
quite a while—ever since we’ve anchored here, 
in fact. But I’ve been afraid you’d laugh 
at me.’ 

“Mr. Hutchinson looked at him sympathet¬ 
ically. ‘I never laugh at a fellow’s sincerity,’ 


SAID WITH SPEARS 


93 


he encouraged. ‘ What’s on your mind, Peter % 
Out with it!’ 

“ ‘It sounds silly, sir,’ demurred Peter. 

4 Too improbable to repeat. But I can’t get it 
out of my mind—especially since I’ve seen 
this weird island. Ainything might happen 
here, sir. It’s topsy-turvy land.’ 

“Mr. Hutchinson smiled. ‘The spirit of the 
East is in your blood,’ he recognized. ‘You’re 
half Malay yourself, Peter.’ His eyes studied 
the brown, young face before him. 

“ ‘It’s like this, sir,’ continued Peter, en- 
heartened by the words. ‘I met a fellow in 
Bangkok, one I had once looked after when 
he was sick. He was ashore, on leave from a 
pearling expedition. Yonder!’ Peter jerked 
his thumb towards the north star. ‘You know 
how sea-faring men yarn. Well, when my 
matey heard that I was shipping here with 
you, sir, he came and told me, straight out. 
“Pete Graham,” he said, “you’ve done me a 
good turn, and now I’ll do you one. Queer 
you should be going there. A mate of mine 
told me the story before he died of the fever. 
There’s pearls on that island, pink pearls, as 
big as peas. They’re perfect in skin, texture 
and coloring. They’re located inside a little 


94 BLUNDER'S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


crescent inlet on the north end of the island. 
You can’t miss the place. They’re salted 
thicker’n pebbles there. And they’re worth a 

long sight more than bugs-” I beg your 

pardon, sir,’ Peter apologized to Mr. Hutch¬ 
inson, ‘but # you know how seamen consider 
science-’ 

“The scientist only smiled. ‘I know, Peter. 
But what’s your idea about this possible cache 
of pearls?’ 

“ ‘I don’t want to pass them up, sir,’ an¬ 
swered Peter earnestly. ‘Nahum and I 
have spent many hours practicing water- 
stunts, diving, holding our breath under 
water-’ ” 

“They didn’t have any divers’ suits then,” 
recalled Steven. “That complicated under¬ 
sea feats.” 

“Yes,” she agreed. 

“Peter went on, ‘I wonder if you could 
spare us a day to discover if there’s any¬ 
thing behind this treasure story. Oh, I know 
that lots of them peter out to nothing but talk, 
that some one else may have taken them 
already. But I wish, sir, you’d give Nahum 
and me your permission to spend a day diving 
in the little crescent lagoon. We could place 
half a dozen men on guard, well armed. If 




SAID WITH SPEARS 


95 


the Malays turn ugly because they know of the 
pearls, we could easily drive them off. And 
we might reap a valuable reward . 7 

“Mr. Hutchinson stared out across the 
black sea to the forbidding darkness of the 
jungle. Peter’s earnestness impressed him. 

It might be- After a bit he decided, ‘I’ll 

arrange for it, day after tomorrow. We’ll go 
ashore at dawn, making the little inlet from 
the sea. I’ll take two boat-loads of men. 
We’ll leave only two on board. But the ketch 
is heavily protected. The little ten-pounders 
could easily rake the waters roundabout, if 
the Malays should try to rush her in our ab¬ 
sence. Besides, they have no way of knowing 
how large a crew I have. I would not permit 
the Exploit for a moment, if I believed there 
would be any danger. I would not risk you 
boys and my men for a king’s ransom. But 
at any rate, it should prove an exhilarating 
change for you, an adventuresome holiday. I 
confess to a hankering after treasure-hunting 
myself. Not that I ever discovered any,’ he 
ended ruefully. 

“ ‘Thank you, sir,’ laughed Peter happily. 
‘With your permission, I’ll tell Nahum before 
I go on watch.’ 

“ ‘He’s in the cabin,’ suggested Mr. Hutch- 



96 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


inson. ‘Tell him by all means. I know him. 
He’ll be as eager as you.’ 

“Peter vanished. For a long time the 
scientist sat staring at the torn and ragged 
outlines of the jungle, as it lay like a black 
silhouette, smudging out the stars behind it. 
****** 

“They lay on their oars above the black 
waters in the little, scimitar-shaped inlet 
Peter’s friend had described. There was no 
mistaking it. It was the only one that cut a 
crescent into the basalt, on the north of the 
little island. The waters were unusually black, 
undoubtedly due to some mineral action 
brought about by the rocks. ‘Volcanic,’ Mr. 
Hutchinson had said directly on beholding the 
rock formation of the island. ‘Must have been 
a lively place at some remote time. May be¬ 
come active again.’ 

“The scientist, Peter, Nahum and two of 
the crew occupied one boat. There were five 
men in the other—five of the crew. Every 
man carried musket, pistol, cutlass, powder 
and ball aplenty. They had, moreover, agreed 
on a signal. Three shots fired in rapid suc¬ 
cession meant ‘Help If some unforeseen 
danger developed, and three reports were 
heard, The North Star was to put with all 


SAID WITH SPEARS 


97 


speed to the northern end of the island, with 
her cannon ready. Mr. Hutchinson was a cau¬ 
tious man. He believed in preparedness. 

“Peter and Nahum were to take turns in 
diving down into the dark waters near the 
cliffs. They were to go down cautiously, 
against the chance of striking rocks. At first 
they were to reconnoiter under water only the 
shortest possible time, getting their bear¬ 
ings and the character of the rocks, whether 
there were pearl-bearing bivalves clinging 
there-” 

“What about octopi?” put in Steven, “and 
cuttle-fish? Aren’t the waters around tropic 
islands likely to be full of them?” 

“Not always. There were none there, as 
Mr. Hutchinson’s repeated tests had proved.” 

“And s-s-sh-sharks?” stuttered Blunder- 
Beth, as she sometimes did, when unduly ex¬ 
cited. 

“There weren’t sharks either. . . . 

“Peter went down first. He was gone for 
a matter of seconds. His face was exultant. 
4 There’re shells there,’ he reported, 4 and they 
aren’t empty. They’re pearl mussels, I’m 
sure.’ 

“Nahum dipped over the bow, out of sight 
in the dark waters. He was gone ten seconds 
—twenty, thirty. A minute sped by. Mr. 



98 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

Hutchinson began to stare over the edge, 
down into the dark waters. But the inlet lay 
motionless. If there had been a lurking octo¬ 
pus or shark, followed by a struggle, bubbles 
would come to the surface. The waters would 
reveal some sign. 

“I’m going down, sir,’ declared Peter dog¬ 
gedly. ‘ It’s not like N ahum to run contrary to 
orders. He’s down too long. I don’t like it, 
sir.’ 

“ ‘Nor I,’ agreed Nahum’s father. 

“Peter dipped from sight. Again the omi¬ 
nous seconds ticked by. Mr. Hutchinson must 
have held his huge silver watch in his hand. 
The crew began to talk, wagging_ their heads 
sagely. ‘Maybe it’s one of them ghosts-of-the- 
sea snoopin’ hereabouts.’ They referred to a 
huge umbrella-shaped, gelatinous mass, lined 
with needle-like points. These spurs carry a 
subtle poison, which, on entering the system, 
temporarily paralyzes a person until he sinks. 
‘I’ve seen nothing to indicate their presence,’ 
objected the scientist curtly. His uneasiness 
grew. A minute seeped by—two—three.” 

“Oh, I say,” declared Steven, “no fellow 
could keep under water that length of time.” 

“I know,” volunteered Blunder-Beth with 
bright eyes. “Quicksands.” 



PETER WENT DOWN FIRST 


























100 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


“No,” answered her grandmother, “not 
quicksands. 

“Fear clutched at Mr. Hutchinson’s heart. 
He knew that something was now very wrong 
with both Nahum and Peter. Many ideas shut¬ 
tled through his mind. Had sudden cramps 
seized Nahum? Was he lying helpless among 
the seaweed? Had Peter tried in vain to res¬ 
cue him? But Peter was a powerful swim¬ 
mer. He could easily bring Nahum to the sur¬ 
face, even though he were a dead weight. Mr. 
Hutchinson was in a quandary. If some terri¬ 
ble doom lurked under those frowning, black 
waters, could he be justified in risking another 
life? One may already have paid the price, 
young Peter’s. 

“He began to take off his own clothes. The 
second mate started to object and to plead 
with him. The scientist was adamant. He 
wouldn’t hear to his arguments. ‘They may 
be only stunned, ’ he declared. ‘ Even now arti¬ 
ficial respiration would have a chance to save 

them.’ ‘And if you don’t come back, sir-’ 

‘You may put down grappling-irons,’ he said 
grimly. He went overboard, leaving the sec¬ 
ond mate in command. 

“He came back shortly, white and fagged. 
‘I can find no trace of them,’ he admitted. ‘Yet 
it’s a sandy bottom, covered with kelp, as 


SAID WITH SPEARS 


101 


I’d correctly supposed. I’ll keep on going 

down-’ ‘Let me go this time, sir,’ insisted 

the second mate. ‘You look—shaky.’ After 
much persuading Mr. Hutchinson permitted 
the second mate to go down. But he made the 
same useless search. The hoys had vanished 
as if sucked from sight into the heart of the 
earth. 

“Man after man went down—uselessly. Mr. 
Hutchinson doggedly insisted on manning the 
boats above the spot where the boys had disap¬ 
peared. He wouldn’t hear of putting back to 
The North Star . He seemed dazed. He in¬ 
sisted on patrolling the waters. If some deep 
sea creature were responsible, some sign might 
come, if they waited. 

• • • • • 

“Some two hours later a faint sound came 
from the heart of the jungle. Clang, clang, 
clang; like the muffled beat of some invisible 
gong. Then, once more, clang, clang, clang. 
Silence settled over the island again. 

“A great hope surged through Mr. Hutchin¬ 
son’s heart. ‘Men, it can’t be chance! That’s 
the signal agreed upon if danger beset us. 
They’re calling us from the jungle—with three 
reports.’ He grabbed a musket. Two of his 
men imitated him. They fired three shots, to 
answer the possible call for help from the 


102 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

jungle, and to summon The North Star with 
full speed. They drove the boats ashore. They 
left two men on guard with the boats and to 
hold The North Star in readiness with her can¬ 
non trained on the island. Then the scientist 
headed his men straight into the thicket. 

“They found Nahum and Peter temporarily 
deserted by the Malays. The boys were bound 
and gagged, their backs lashed with palm 
thongs against the notched coconut palms. 
They were to be offered up as sacrifice when 
the moon arose. This was the custom peculiar 
to that particular tribe. But Nahum freed one 
arm by sawing the bonds against the jagged 
edge of the scaled pahn-trunk. Malay spears 
had been stuck into the ground, one to the right 
of Nahum and one to the right of Peter. They 
were the executional spears. Nahum succeeded 
in pulling the heavy-tipped length of bamboo 
from the spongy earth beside him. He swung 
the metal point hard against the other metal 
spear-point. The clanging metal rang out 
three times, in accordance with the cry for help 
agreed upon. The wind was the only chance 
in their favor. It fortunately blew off shore, 
directly to the men in the jutty. The sound 
carried faintly, but perfectly, as they waited 
there for some sign of the vanished boya And 


SAID WITH SPEARS 


103 


the wind drove the sound away from the jungle 
and the Malays.” 

“But the holes in the shaft of this spear?” 
recalled Blunder-Beth. 

“There were five magnificent pink pearls 
fastened into the holes by the aid of some 
pitchy substance. Both spears were so orna¬ 
mented. Peter claimed one and Nahum the 
other. ... As for the treasure in that sinister 
inlet—there remained none. There was a sub¬ 
terranean passage in the cliffs leading from 
the bottom of the little lagoon into the jungle. 
Some old volcanic disturbance probably hewed 
out the natural passage. The Malays had used 
it for reaching the pearls. Moreover, several 
of them hid there, guessing why the boats from 
the thunder-ship had put into the inlet. They 
intended to guard their satiny secret treasure. 
They had seized Nahum first, and then Peter. 
And the opening was so perfectly concealed by 
seaweed and kelp that neither Mr. Hutchinson 
nor his men later discovered it. The brown 
men carried the boys into a hollow space in the 
jungle, where they performed their weird 
dances and incantations on certain ceremonial 
nights. ... So it was really the voice of the 
spears, crying for help, which saved Nahum 
and Peter from a highly unpleasant fate.” 


VII 

Lady Audrey's Armor 

“Blizzard!” exclaimed Blunder-Beth em¬ 
phatically, glancing out of the window at the 
swirling sheets of white that buffeted the 
panes with tinkling tongues, “ blizzard! It’s a 
howling howitzer!’ 9 

“Un-huh,” assented Steven quizzically, 
“what d’you know about howitzers, oh, heated 
one?” 

“Huh!” protested Blunder-Beth. “Well, 
make it a Maxim rapid-fire, then. That’s what 
the heavens are doing, pelting the earth with a 
million snow shots a second-” 

“That’s better,” approved Steven with a 
droll attempt at weathered wisdom. 

He looked like a venerable beetle, or a wise 
old owl, as he too peered out the window. 
Clouds of sleet and snow swirled about in a 
dervish dance. 

Grandmother Stanton looked up from her 
knitting. 

“Please put more pine knots on this blaze, 
Steven,” she suggested. “The snow gets into 
my feet.” 


104 


LADY AUDREY’S ARMOR 


105 


Steven complied. Then he drawled lux¬ 
uriously: “I’ve got those originals all wrestled 
out in my geom-” 

“You’ve nothing on me, Steve,” gloated 
Beth. 

It was seldom indeed that she conquered les¬ 
sons first. Generally she sat in a brown study, 
dreamily staring out at the sky, the road, or at 
any point of the compass rather than the piled- 
up books. 

“My Caesar’s all complete—including thirty 
lines of advance translation.” 

“Mirabile dictu” quoth Steven under his 
breath. ‘ 6 Here’s Nancy. ’ ’ 

The slender, gray-eyed girl, slightly older 
than the irrepressible Blunder-Beth, now en¬ 
tered. There was the glint of amusement in 
her eyes, and a demure humor rippled about 
the mobile mouth. 

“What a woebegone-looking pair!” she ap¬ 
praised. 1 1 Snow-bound, tighter than a drum. ’ ’ 

“I know,” decided Blunder-Beth. “Let’s 
dig into the old chest in the garret. It’ll give 
up a few more ghosts—live ones with stories 
attached.” 

“Travel along,” urged Grandmother Stan¬ 
ton. “You haven’t scratched the surface of 
that treasure-trove yet.” 



106 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

“It's your turn, Beth,” recalled Steven gal¬ 
lantly. “'But don’t take a header in, as you 
dive about. I remember the last time-” 

Ruefully Blunder-Beth rubbed a black-and- 
blue bruise on her right elbow. 

“Huh!” she flung back. “Lucky I don’t 
wear goggles!” 

“Coming, Nancy?” invited Steven, over his 
shoulder. 

“Watch me. I want to be included in the 
plunder-party.” 

The three scurried up the garret stairs with 
Beth ten feet in advance. From its accustomed 
nail on a beam, she took down the rusty key, 
that ponderous affair that had unlocked more 
than one secret from its century-old slumber 
in the dust-draped chest under the eaves. 

The squeaking of a lock sounded like some 
giant rat, even worthy of the haughty notice of 
Puss-in-Boots. The lid creaked open. Many 
a time-stained heirloom reposed there. 

Blunder-Beth, with her usual eager haste, 
closed her eyes and whirled herself around 
three times, that she might be “free of preju¬ 
dices and unbiased by any first glimpse into the 
curio chest.” With ludicrous care she bent 
forward until her dusky bob flung a saucy 
fringe over her forehead. She dipped a sturdy 
arm far within. 



LADY AUDREY’S ARMOR 


107 


Her fingers came out with something cold 
and glea m ing. The object had lain under a 
padded leather-jacket — that undergarment 
often worn in olden times beneath the armor 
of some jousting knight. 

“My goodness!” blinked Steven, flecking 
an imaginary speck of dust from his glasses. 
“A steel headpiece—original first cousin to 
the gas-mask! What a beau-ty!’ 9 

A wonderful helmet it was, with its hinged 
vizor and its overlapping, perfectly riveted 
plates like the shining scales on the back of 
some silver fish. 

“My goodness!” ejaculated Steven again. 
“You’ve picked a prize this time, Lady Beth.” 

“It looks like the Helmet of Navarre,” 
added Nancy, for she nourished a secret ad¬ 
miration for that tale. 

“Let’s double-quick down the stairs,” in¬ 
vited Beth, dropping the chest lid with a thud. 

As she romped down, she clamped the helmet 
over her own medieval-like bobbed head. The 
casque fitted to a nicety. 

They raced into the storm-bound room. 

Grandmother Stanton smiled delightedly. 

“That belongs to one of the finest coats-of- 
mail in our family. It’s the headpiece of Lady 
Audrey’s armor-” 


108 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

“Lady!” sniffed Steven. “I didn’t know 
there was any Joan of Arc in our family-” 

“There was, and is. But the armor wasn’t 
welded for her originally. It belonged to her 
brother Jeffry. He was killed in battle. So 
the armor lay, forlorn and empty, in the garret 
of the great house. Thereby hangs this tale.” 

They waited. Grandmother Stanton fin¬ 
gered the hinged vizor. Twice Blunder-Beth 
smothered a question before the annihilating 
glance of Steven and his muttered “Shh! 
Don’t stop the story before it’s started!” 

“I fancy Beth here was very like her, this 
Lady Audrey Hutchinson.” 

Blunder Beth made them a deep bow. 
‘ 1 Fetch my falcon, minion,” she made mock 
command to Steven. 

The boy frowned again darkly at the inter¬ 
ruption. 

*‘From what I can glean,” Grandmother 
Stanton went on, ‘Tittle Lady Audrey was 
always mixing into whatever occurred in 
Hutchinson Hall, as the estate was called. 
Those were troublesome days, in more ways 
than one now imagines. . . . Shortly after the 
death of young Jeffry on some foreign field 
of honor, that branch of the Hutchinsons went 
to Amsterdam to embark for the New World.” 


LADY AUDREY’S ARMOR 


109 


“Not on the long-suffering Mayflower?” 
protested Blunder Beth. 

“Somewhat later,” acceded their grand¬ 
mother. “The exact date is rather obscure— 
not that it matters particularly. The most 
memorable fact about Lady Audrey’s em¬ 
barking was her luggage. You see, many 
sacrifices in personal possessions had to be 
made to find a haven here. Fine feathers 
were in disfavor—as well as were most 
luxuries that had been an everyday affair at 
the great house. Lady Audrey was permitted 
but one chest in which to carry whatever she 
held most dear.” 

“I know what she carried!” Blunder 
Beth’s eyes sparkled. 

“It was some time,” resumed their grand¬ 
mother, “before anyone dreamed what the 
girl had salvaged to bring to the new sanctu¬ 
ary over the seas. She selected only a few 
of her plainest gowns, a handful of trinkets, 
and—the stained armor of her brother 
Jeffry.” 

“How could she pack it?” asked practical 
Nancy. “Wouldn’t it take a chest like a 
casket?” 

“No. The coat-of-mail was secretly and 
carefully dissembled. Its helmet, cuirass, 


110 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


culet—every part and parcel, even to its shoes 
of mail, she fitted, like the forged pieces of the 
first puzzle picture, into her chest. 

“Why wasn’t it discovered?” demanded 
Blunder Beth. 

“The hall was dismantled, its priceless old 
possessions disposed of hurriedly. No one 
noted the coat-of-mail. After Jeffry’s death 
it no longer occupied the place of honor in the 
great entrance hall. The sight of it caused 
too many sad memories. It had been care¬ 
fully packed away under the ridgepoles of the 
great roof. But Lady Audrey never forgot it. 
To her it whispered of chivalry, of honor, of 
the intrepid daring of that early youth who 
fought gallantly in it, and who met defeat as 
bravely. I fancy this Audrey was what we 
wrongfully call a bit of a tom-boy. I mean 
no criticism of the girl. But she must have 
doted on brave deeds and actions, rather than 
sitting quietly with her embroidery and her 
harp like the carefully nurtured girl of the 
times. This explains her later character. . . . 
There was a pretty to-do when Sir Gregory, 
her father, learned what she had secretly 
stowed away. Not that he didn’t prize the 
valor of his son’s death. But he was a hard- 
headed, practical man. And disaster had 


LADY AUDREY’S ARMOR 111 

taken away from him sentiment and the 
salvaging of keepsakes.” 

“I know what he said.” 

Blunder Beth popped up like a jack-in-the- 
box. She frowned darkly, crossed her arms 
and thundered, “Maiden, why didst secrete 
yon coat-of-mail? Art daft? Where art thy 
gowns and thy necessaries for the rigors of 
this new life? Thou art the flibbertigibbet of 
thy family. Take yon armor from m’ sorry 
sight!” 

“And Audrey took,” supplemented Steven, 
the words springing to his lips before he 
realized that he, too, was interrupting the 
thread of the tale. 

Blunder Beth squatted down again, drop¬ 
ping her dour and forbidding air. 

Grandmother Stanton smiled. “Lack of 
imagination isn’t the chink in your armor, 
Beth. You’ve plenty of it. I fancy Sir Gregory 
did lapse into just such a tirade when he be¬ 
held the metal trappings in Audrey’s limited 
wardrobe. • . • Subsequent events proved 
that Audrey carried the marvelous coat-of- 
mail, piece by piece, up the ladder and into 
the loft of that new-world log-cabin. Sir 
Gregory, in the urge of more pressing affairs, 
straightway forgot the incident and the fate 


112 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

of the armor. But not so Lady Audrey. She 
kept it secretly stowed away in her chest 
beside the crude bed or shake-down. 

“Time rolled on. Affairs of the colony 
became daily more difficult. Spread Eagle 
and his braves made monthly massacre of out¬ 
lying, unprotected posts. The little colony 
languished, sickened, and was thinned out. 
Sir Gregory, as became his station and ex¬ 
perience, was made captain of the stockade. 
His own cabin was but a mere blockhouse 
within the crude surrounding walls. The 
Indians fought in ambush, in ways unknown 
to the English gentlemen, who scorned to take 
advantage of an opponent, whether his skin 
was white, yellow or red. The flaming arrow, 
the tomahawk, flung from the rear, did not 
enter their rules of fair fighting. Hence, they 
were doubly handicapped for the defensive, 
since they would stoop to no such means of 
warfare.” 

“Well, musket and ball, sword and cutlass 
should have been a good counterfoil,” re¬ 
minded Steven. 

“In open battle, yes. But not in the skulk¬ 
ing, predatory warfare practiced by the red¬ 
skin, the redskin who didn’t hold to Massa- 
soit’s code. . . . Then one day a courier 


LADY AUDREY'S ARMOR 


113 


appeared on a sweating horse. The great gate 
had scarcely creaked on its hinges before the 
rider rushed in, pell-mell. He called loudly 
for the captain of the post. Sir Gregory met 
him with stern-set lips. 

“ ‘Sir, the Indians are on the rampage, 
burning and blazing all outposts in their path 
to yonder stockade. Capt. Haviland of the 
imperiled post twenty miles away begs, nay 
prays, for succor, for every able,_ armed man 
who can be spared from your slenderly pro¬ 
tected garrison.’ 

“Sir Gregory was a man of action. He 
issued orders right and left. Horses were 
hastily saddled. Swords clinked. Powder and 
ball were stored away. And Sir Gregory him¬ 
self headed the little handful of men he had 
picked, leaving less on guard at the stockade. 
His second in command was a mere stripling, 
named Roland Carstairs, the last of a great 
family, with more valor than sense, as events 
shall presently show. So the little cavalcade 
started through the great log gates. 

“They had hardly passed when there was 
a scurry of feet. The flying figure of Audrey 
dashed out, crying out, ‘Oh, take me, sir! Take 
me! I’m the last of the family. When danger 
presses, a Hutchinson has never willingly 


114 BLUNDER'S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

languished in duress, idle and useless. Oh, 
take me, sir!’ 

“Sternly her father regarded what he con¬ 
sidered an unwomanly outburst, this tramp¬ 
ling on family traditions. Certainly it was to 
become the talk of the post for many a day. 
And Sir Gregory particularly disliked a scene. 
Sharply he reprimanded her: 

“ ‘Daughter, go thee hence, back to thy 
hearthside! Thou art the last of the race, 
yes. But heaven forbid that thou should be 
the first madcap in it, the first hoyden! Roland 
Carstairs is also the last of his family. So, 
thou art not alone.’ 

“With flaming cheeks the girl stumbled 
back inside the gates. But the color in her 
cheeks was not the badge of shame; it was the 
symbol of a smoldering sense of injustice. 
‘Hearthside,’ indeed, she of a fighting race! 
As for Roland Carstairs—a dandified strip¬ 
ling ! He played the harpsichord with charm¬ 
ing grace and fenced like a courtier. And he 
s till wore the velvet doublet when all the rest 
were content to brave the times in hardy 
homespun. Queer what Sir Gregory could 
see in that macaroni! Assuredly her father 
was blinded by a fine name and the fame of a 
great family. With cheeks still aflame 


LADY AUDREY'S ARMOR 


115 


Audrey stumbled along. A short distance in¬ 
side the stockade, she encountered Roland 
Carstairs. He was a handsome youth, with 
the manners of a gentleman—and the delicate 
face of a girl. His slender fingers were not 
yet bronzed and hardened by rigor and toil. 
He had a way of avoiding physical encounter 
with work and worry. At present he was 
polishing the hilt of his sword on his lace 
kerchief. 

“ 4 Ah, Lady Audrey,’ he greeted her with a 
sweeping bow, clicking the heels of his 
buckled shoes together. 4 Time languishes for 
thee. Wilt not accompany me while I call 
my little troop for manoeuvers? I have a new 
drill I would practice. It was used at Hast¬ 
ings-’ 

“ ‘Hastings, indeed,’ flung back the girl. 
‘Thou forgettest that we are a long, long way 
from old England. And the hapless tricks of 
that bygone day have little power among red¬ 
skins who practice a different and a more diffi¬ 
cult art.’ 

“The stripling straightened. ‘And what 
doth the Lady Audrey know of military 
tactics?” 

“ ‘I have heard sorry tales concerning what 
has happened by the foolhardy use of them,’ 



116 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


declared Audrey soberly. *’Tis a new and 
strange country. And it ill suits us to wear 
hither the customs or the costumes of other 
days/ 

“The youth flushed. He turned on his heel 
and left her. Swallowing her disappointment, 
Audrey went back along the stockade, up the 
loft into her own little room. Once in a 
while the wind wafted Roland’s voice, as he 
spurred on his handful of raw recruits to 
better efforts. It spoke well for the men that 
they didn’t mutiny under the autocratic hand 
of this high-and-mighty substitute. But they 
had learned by severe experience that obedi¬ 
ence is the first law of duty. So they per¬ 
formed for him to the best of their ability. 
From the slitted window in the loft Audrey 
could see them. They were the older, less fit 
men of the post. There was Peter Rankin, 
with his funny peg-leg; and George Mullins, 
blind in one eye. It was an awkward, un¬ 
gainly squad whom the young dandy was try¬ 
ing to captain. At any other time Audrey 
would have smiled at their awkwardness. Now 
they seemed pathetically tragic, these dis¬ 
cards, left out of the thick of adventure—like 
her. 

“But Audrey didn’t hold to dark fancies 


LADY AUDREY’S ARMOR 


117 


long. Shortly she was down stairs at the 
great kettle, trying out the fat for the soap. 
She hummed a gay little air to vanquish the 
dark forebodings, which kept welling up in 
her mind, like some spring that would not run 
dry. 

“The day wore on. Twilight draped purple 
shadows over the little stockade. A picket re¬ 
ported smoke to the south. Assuredly the red¬ 
skins were pressing close to Capt. Haviland’s 
post. Audrey’s mind fled to her father, while 
her body mechanically performed the homely 
tasks of the log house. Night came, and with 
it a full moon, gorgeous as some golden doub¬ 
loon. The heavens were shot with a myriad of 
stars, like the tips of gleaming pikestaffs, like 
the points of brandished sword blades. 

“She heard the shrill voice of Roland call¬ 
ing to the night picket on guard on the wall. 
‘Get thee down, Master Trolthrope,’ he said. 
‘I will relieve thee.’ There was a self-sacrific¬ 
ing note in the youthful voice, as if he had 
performed a valiant feat indeed, by himself 
relieving Trolthrope. To his way of thinking, 
a captain should never shirk any duty imposed 
upon a subordinate. 

“Audrey could see Roland’s great cape and 
plumed hat silhouetted against the star-points, 


118 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

as he paced back and forth on the wooden wall. 
‘Foolhardy,’ she told herself. ‘He should be 
behind the logs in the little spy-house, instead 
of out in the open, a perfect target for some 
stray arrow.’ But Capt. Haviland’s post was 
twenty miles away, and the tongues of smoke 
had died down at twilight. Perhaps she was 
unjust in the estimates of Roland Carstairs’ 
tactics.^ Mayhap there was some sense behind 
his strutting bravado and arena-play. 

“Lights slitted the logs of the crude cabins 
squatting within those scarred walls. There 
was clank of heavy pewter, of iron pots and 
kettles. The little garrison ate. The stars 
winked and blinked knowingly, as the moon 
floated aloft. Sir Gregory’s cabin was situated 
on a little mound at the extreme end of the 
post. Its narrow loft window commanded a 
view of the sweeping knoll and the woodlands 
beyond. Mechanically Audrey’s eyes picked 
out the giant shadows cast by the trees in the 
moonlight. The clumps of foliage were so 
dense that only gnarled darkness encompassed 
them. 

“Suddenly the girl strained forward, her 
nose close to the slitted aperture of the dark¬ 
ened loft. Something moved there, unlike the 
customary shape of mere tree shadows. Other 


LADY AUDREY'S ARMOR 119 

things moved, chilling shadows topped by 
spurts of dark, like plumed helmets—the head- 
pieces of men in armor. But Audrey knew 
that the night shadows were not bristling with 
gay-plumed knights. No, indeed. Brown¬ 
skinned braves, hideous in warpaint, also be¬ 
decked themselves in feathers . Somehow 
Spread Eagle himself with a picked band had 
made a detour, and was swooping down in 
the shadows to surprise the unprotected gar¬ 
rison. Mayhap some ill had befallen Sir 
Gregory, and the piercing eyes of Spread 
Eagle had recognized the paleface chief of the 
distant post. 

“A great fear clutched at Audrey’s heart, 
and a burning wave of excitement. Roland 
Carstairs would now be placed on his mettle. 
Would he stand or fall before the trial—this 
test by Indian fire? 

“ Audrey raced down the ladder, out the 
cabin door, along the shadows of the stockade 
to Roland, grandly pacing back and forth, his 
head muffled in his fine cape. 

“ ‘Roland, Roland,’ she breathed. 

“ ‘Who goes there?’ demanded the youth 
in a falsetto voice. 

“ ‘Hush, oh, hush!’ she protested in an 
agony of apprehension. ‘Come down! Come 


120 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

down at once. Danger is afoot —red danger.’ 
Red danger meant Indians. 

“ ‘Stuff and nonsense!’ scoffed Roland Car- 
stairs. ‘Thou art weaving idle fancies from 
moonshine. Danger on a starlit night! Thy 
fancies have routed thy sense, Lady Audrey. 
Run back and brew thyself a beaker of herbs. 
’Twill chase the chill of fear from thy 
marrow.’ 

“He stalked majestically away. ‘Fear ! 9 he 
had taunted her! Crimson shame crept to 
the roots of Audrey’s hair. But ’twas no time 
for hurt feelings and sundered pride. 

“‘Come down! Come down, Roland,’ she 
pleaded. ‘The redskins skulk in the woods 
beyond the west wing of the stockade. ’Tis 
our weakest point. Summon thy men. Drop 
thee from sight.’ 

“ ‘ A Carstairs never skulks before dangers,’ 
answered Roland proudly. ‘I will investigate 
and learn what wild animal has frightened 
thee to seeing things.’ 

“He started again to walk along towards 
that danger patch of darkness. . . . Now 
Audrey had wound a long woolen scarf about 
her throat and shoulders. For there was a 
blade in the breeze—the first hint of chill 
early autumn. Instantly, the girl found toe 


LADY AUDREY’S ARMOR 


121 


space in the poorly-chinked logs of the stock¬ 
ade-wall. As noiselessly as a cat she was up 
and after the foolhardy Roland. She ripped 
the scarf from her and flung it straight about 
his mouth. She tied it taut. With its sturdy 
ends she yanked him full from the top of the 
stockade onto the soft sand inside. He was 
dumbfounded with surprise and rage at the 
gagging scarf. Audrey knew that she was rais¬ 
ing a hand against a superior officer in com¬ 
mand. On a military field her deed before a 
court martial was punishable by death. But 
she took the stout scarf and bound the stunned 
Roland’s arms behind him, even as she saw 
that his mouth was firmly trussed against any 
outcry. She dragged him along the sand to the 
great iron wrought hinges of the gate. They 
had fancy, curving looped tops, the idea of 
some ironmaster in old England. She tied him 
securely to the lowest hinge of the great gate. 
Then she ripped off both stockings and bound 
his feet fast. Roland Carstairs’ stubborn 
obstinacy would be out of the running—for a 
time. 

“Audrey then dashed back to her cabin, 
bearing Roland’s cape over her arm. She sped 
up the ladder to the loft. Again she peered 
out of the window. Yes, they were still there, 


122 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

their numbers increasing. Not a moment was 
to be lost. 

“ Suddenly, on the top of the stockade, 
nearest the skulking band of braves, a power¬ 
ful figure in a cape rose silently, as if pulled 
by unseen wires. It mounted higher and 
higher, a huge hulk, clearly limned out in the 
moonlight. It offered a perfect target for 
Spread Eagle’s swiftly drawn arrow. The 
arrow pierced the cape, directly above the 
heart. The shot sped true. But it fell, like a 
useless, spent thing, onto the stockade. And 
the cloaked figure still moved forward— 
unharmed . 

“ With a grunt, Spread Eagle drew his great 
bow again. Two of his braves also strung 
arrows. Three winged lengths of death again 
touched the cloaked figure. The arrows fell, 
like broken things. And the figure still 
walked on, unharmed. Spread Eagle grunted 
in sharp gutturals to his braves. A veritable 
cloud of arrows winged against that charmed, 
moving form. Again they fell, like useless, 
moulting feathers. And still the Great Dark 
Spirit lived! 

‘ 6 Suddenly the all-powerful shape raised 
great arms from beneath the cape. Fire 
leaped forth, then a perfect volley of spurting 



A POWERFUL FIGURE IN A CAPE ROSE SILENTLY 












124 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

tongues of death, as musket ball after musket 
ball pelted the shadows where Spread Eagle 
and his braves had skulked. With a wild 
war-whoop of frightened defeat, the un¬ 
harmed redskins fled away in the darkness, 
carrying their stricken with them. 

6 ‘The giant figure descended the ladder 
raised against the inside of the stockade, flung 
the cape from its shoulders. The moon fell 
full on a form completely decked in shining 
armor, the secretly prized armor of young 
Jeffry. Off came the helmet. And Lady 
Audrey’s sternly smiling face looked forth. 
Along the wall the scanty garrison had 
propped up other ladders. Atop them, shield¬ 
ed behind the picketed post, they had echoed 
Audrey’s first musket shot with a riddling 
round of fire from their own fowling-pieces.” 

“Hurrah!” exclaimed Blunder Beth. 
“Three cheers and a tiger for Lady Audrey!” 

“No wonder the redskins took to their 
heels,” mused Nancy. “Not a chance against 
that wonderful, magic coat-of-mail.” 

“So,” finished their grandmother, “Lady 
Audrey’s armor has been greatly prized for 
many long years. It stands for the valor and 
the chivalry of near-forgotten days. Put it 
away carefully, Beth. I would not part with 
it for a pretty penny.” 


VIII 

The Nicked Blade 

A loud thumping sounded from overhead 
in the garret. Then followed the squeak of 
protesting hinges. Silence, a pent-up, tanta¬ 
lizing silence. The three in the room below 
listened with eager ears. 

“That’s Blunder-Beth prowling about,” 
grinned Steven, settling the nose-piece of his 
glasses more comfortably. 

“She’s searching in that old, brass-studded 
chest again,” appraised Grandmother Stanton 
from her knitting. 

“Fishing for a story,” added demure 
Nancy. “It’s full of treasure, all kinds of 
queer things that have seen stirring times.” 

Grandmother Stanton nodded. “There’s not 
an heirloom in it that doesn’t carry a story,” 
she murmured proudly. 

Rapid thuds fell overhead. The garret door 
opened. Swift footfalls descended the stairs. 
A girl burst into the room, a girl with tousled, 
brown-cropped hair and gray eyes aglint with 
excitement. Albout her waist was strung a 
dark belt. At her left side drooped a shabby 

125 


’ 126 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

scabbard with a finely chased silver sword- 
hilt projecting. Gingerly Beth — Blunder- 
Beth as they called her from the awkward 
situations she was always running into— 
pulled out the sword with both hands. 

“It’s a regular pirate-saber,” she gloated. 
“And, my I But it’s heavy!” 

“A beauty,” appreciated Steven. “But its 
blade is heavily nicked! What a pity! Why 
wasn’t the nick ground out*?” 

“Careful, Beth,” cautioned the old lady. 
“The edge is still keen. Here, place it safely 
on the floor there.” She turned to Steven. 
“Why wasn’t the nick ground out? Because 
it’s a memento, the souvenir of a stirring inci¬ 
dent that happened back in colonial days to 
one of your ancestors.” 

“Please let’s hear the story,” promptly 
pressed Steven. “I can’t for the puzzle of it 
guess how fine steel like that should come by 
such a nick. Certainly no one would try to 
cut a spike with it.” 

“You could never guess,” the old lady told 
him. “It’s really the oddest tale, how a nicked 
sword blade saved a garrison.” 

“Oh, is that so? How exciting! Please tell 
us!” 

She put down her knitting. Blunder Beth 


THE NICKED BLADE 


127 


sat cautiously close by the shining hilt of the 
sword, as if she expected the blade to bound 
up and bite her. 

“As you know,” their grandmother began, 
“the colonists lived in constant terror of the 
redskin. Wherever possible, they dwelt in 
stockades—groups of log-cabins banded to¬ 
gether for protection and surrounded by log 
walls. As a rule, the Indians avoided these 
garrisons, contenting themselves more with 
dropping down suddenly on isolated, unpro¬ 
tected cabins. . . . 

“Roger Haviland, a stalwart boy of your 
own years, Steven, acted as aid to his father, 
Captain Haviland, of the particular post on 
which my story hinges. A certain warring 
Indian chieftain, named Silver Fox, had be¬ 
come a pest to the colony. Sorry tales drifted 
in to His Excellency, the governor. Finally 
he summoned, in conference, certain captains 
of the garrisons to hit upon some way of stop¬ 
ping the depredations of Silver Fox, snaring 
him or putting him to rout northward towards 
Canada. So Captain Haviland rode away at 
night on this mission to the governor. He left 
his son Roger in command, much to the cha¬ 
grin of some of the older men of the post who 
coveted the role of captain pro tem . But 


128 BLUNDER'S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


Roger was quite unconscious of this by-play 
of the men, for he was exceedingly proud to 
hold such a position of trust during his 
father’s absence. So the growing envy fell 
away from him as if he had been encased in 
armor. 

“At nightfall the second day, Roger sighted 
a sloop in the little harbor of the garrison. A 
small boat put ashore. Roger went down to 
meet it. An officer called for the captain of 
the post. He looked doubtfully at Roger when 
the boy told him that he was acting in com¬ 
mand for his father, Captain Haviland. 

“ ‘I bring,’ stated the officer, ‘secret, valua¬ 
ble stores of powder, shot and ball, to be 
buried with all possible speed inside the walls 
of your stockade. Other posts will call upon 
Captain Haviland for their own supplies later. 
’Tis a considerable store—kegs and boxes 
aplenty.’ He looked again doubtfully at 
Roger. ‘Had I better land yonder valuable 
cargo, that settles the sloop to the water’s edge, 
or shall I weigh anchor and return when thy 
father, the captain, comes back?’ 

“Roger flushed slightly. He hitched the 
leather belt more closely about his waist, this 
self-same belt. He rested his hand on the shin¬ 
ing hilt of his father’s sword. The officer saw 


THE NICKED BLADE 


129 


the movement and paused. There was dignity 
in it, strength, and rugged courage. He 
glanced at the determined jaw of the youth, at 
his bronzed face and broad shoulders. He saw 
the hands, roughened with toil, scarred, too. 
He reconsidered. 

“ ‘I know Captain Haviland,’ he said, ‘a 
stern, unswerving judge of men. If he leaves 
you, his son, in command—well, where shall I 
unload the ammunition? Speak, lad, I will 
follow orders.’ 

“ Roger Haviland looked across a freshly 
seeded plot of new ploughed land. It ran up 
the slope, from the water’s edge to the very 
shadow of the garrison walls. On the side of 
the freshly sown field arose a scarecrow, an 
effigy in homespun, topped by a faded, Con¬ 
tinental hat. 

“He gestured at the figure. ‘I would be a 
poor effigy indeed, to disappoint either my 
father or you, sir.’ 

“The officer frowned and glanced at the 
handsome sword-hilt swinging from the home- 
spun hip. ‘I like not such tinselled trappings,’ 
he shrugged. ‘The elegancies of the courtier 
ill suit homespun, even though it is thy 
father’s and therefore prized by you. I am 
an officer appointed by His Excellency. But 


130 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


I bedeck myself in no such finery. The sword 
has little use in this hardy land where the red¬ 
skin fights with winged bow, with flung toma^ 
hawk and the flaming arrow. A hand-to-hand 
encounter belongs to the warfare of other 
countries, not to this bleak and rock-ribbed 
New World. The Indian should be answered 
with powder and ball, since he fights from a 
distance, except,’ meaning^, ‘when he has 
felled his quarry. Sword play has little place 
in the daily dangers that beset us here. Of 
more use is yon scarecrow guarding, by its 
mock realism and the flapping of its empty 
arms and legs, the seeds in yonder field from 
the hungry maws of crow and blackbird.’ 

44 Lights sprang up cautiously on the little 
sloop. Darkness brushed black wings over the 
bay. Soon a full moon would pour buckets of 
brilliance on land and sea. 

4 4 Roger Haviland stirred uneasily at the 
officer’s earnest words. He knew that his 
father wore the sword more from force of 
habit than for any false show. Acting on sud¬ 
den, boyish impulse, he said, 4 1’ll draw my 
sword and stick it in the belt of yon homespun 
effigy. The mock-manikin shall wear it for me 
until I re-enter the stockade after powder and 
ball have been safely buried inside. Then the 


THE NICKED BLADE 


131 


sword shall rest on the shelf above the fire¬ 
place, a memento of other days when gentle¬ 
men fought face to face.’ 

“The officer clapped the boy heartily on the 
shoulder. ‘Well spoken, Master Roger Havi- 
land. Now for unloading the sloop’s stores!’ 
He rowed rapidly towards the waiting sloop. 

“Black figures moved like lively splotches 
of ink against the sheltering rocks. The crags 
sheered down to the water’s edge, making an 
excellent, natural landing-place. The sil¬ 
houetted shapes were burdened with kegs and 
boxes which they deposited with silent swift¬ 
ness. In turn men, like black ants, carried the 
heavy supplies along the edge of the ploughed 
plot through the garrison gate. Never before 
had such a generous store of ammunition been 
landed there. It swelled out and over, run¬ 
ning in a heaped maze of shadows to the very 
flapping scarecrow. 

“ ‘Fare thee well,’ called out the officer 
finally, as the last store of kegs was rolled 
ashore. ‘I wouldst call thy attention to this 
keg here. By rough handling its head has 
been stove in. Powder lieth uncovered and 
strewn about. Set it apart to be kept for pres¬ 
ent need. Again, fare thee well.’ 


132 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


“ ‘Farewell,’ called out Roger. 

‘ ‘ He took the keg with the broken head. He 
tried to lift it himself. But it was too heavy. 
‘Mr. Calthrope,’ he called, ‘wilt kindly lend a 
hand here? Let’s take this broken container 
of powder and set it in the shadow of the scare¬ 
crow for special attention later.’ 

“The older man frowned slightly. It irked 
him to be commanded, however courteously, 
by a brawny stripling in homespun. The two 
strained under the weight of the broken keg. 
They set it against the pole of the scarecrow. 

“As Calthrope mopped his forehead there 
came a hallow tap-tap from the keg. He 
backed away from the thing. ‘What is it?’ he 
demanded. ‘Is the thing haunted, or has the 
effigy come to life?’ 

“Roger laughed heartily. ‘ ’TIs only my 
freed sword hitting the keg as the effigy flaps 
in the wind.’ 

“Tap-tap-tap echoed the keg promptly, to 
prove Roger’s simple explanation of the seem¬ 
ing phenomenon. 

“Still Calthrope frowned. ‘A sorry use to 
put to a good sword. But what regard has 
mere youth for fine steel!’ 

“You know,” laughed their grandmother, 
“then, as now, the older folk were always chid- 


THE NICKED BLADE 


133 


ing the younger for some seeming lack of re¬ 
spect and appreciation.” 

“Huh!” flung out Blunder-Beth. “Little 
he knew! Just appearance, that’s all. What 
did Roger say then'?” 

“ ’Twas no time for word-play, no more 
than it was for sword-play. Roger hastened 
back to help in the last hurrying of the sup¬ 
plies within the safer walls of the garrison. * I 
fancy the full moon worried him. It limned 
out their movements plainly. To be sure, Sil¬ 
ver Fox had previously avoided armed stock¬ 
ades. But he was daily growing more bold. If 
any hint of Captain Haviland’s absence should 
leak out, or any scouting redskin should get 
wind of the coming of the sloop, and the un¬ 
loading of its considerable cargo—well, Indian 
runners trekked on winged feet. There was 
no knowing where Silver Fox and his maraud¬ 
ing band might break out next. 

“Roger began to sigh with relief. The 
moon sailed high overhead. But it looked 
down on only a handful of supplies. The 
young commander had ordered his men inside 
the walls for the digging of a big trench to hold 
the powder against any flaming arrow. Only 
he and Calthrope lingered outside for the roll¬ 
ing in of the few remaining kegs. Roger saw 


134 BLUNDER'S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

Calthrope now disappear within the great 
hinged gate, rolling a keg before him. The 
boy paused, flung back his shoulders and 
stared out to sea for some final hint of the 
sloop’s faint mast-light. But the boat had dis¬ 
appeared around a jutty. 

“As Roger turned back to his task, some¬ 
thing seemed to move against the rocks, in the 
bright glare of the moonlight. Then the spot 
appeared motionless again. Roger rubbed his 
eyes. Perhaps they were playing him tricks. 
But he dropped quickly into the black shadows 
cast by some hollowed-out rocks. He peeked 
towards the spot where he fancied something 
moved. But only motionless moonlight lay 
there. 

“Roger strained his glance back towards the 
open gate of the stockade. Between his dark 
hiding-spot and the wall lay the freshly seeded 
land. On its moonlit edge a dark form stood, 
seeming to peer intently seaward. A length of 
brightness fell away from its left side, like a 
long thread of silver. His father’s unsheathed 
sword dangled there! At the foot of the scare¬ 
crow leaned the lone, broken keg of gunpow¬ 
der. Oddly enough, by a trick of distance, the 
empty armholes were hidden behind the pow¬ 
der keg, as well the flapping nether garments. 


THE NICKED BLADE 


135 


Roger smiled grimly. Distance and that 
broken keg vested the effigy with a strikingly 
lifelike air. The three-cornered hat was tilted 
low over the collar. The mock figure looked 
very like some picket or sentry of the post 
standing guard and peering seaward. 

“A slight move caught Roger’s surprisingly 
keen eyes. It flitted from a spot where he had 
fancied he had previously glimpsed something 
steathily moving. He strained his eyes from 
the darkness towards the brightness. 

“Then his heart skipped a beat. Behind a 
rock something did move, something that was 
feathered and brighter than mere moonlight. 
It w T as an Indian’s head-dress. A brown face 
crawled to view. The eyes were craftily fas¬ 
tened to the realistic effigy on the edge of the 
field. Followed a quick movement. A huge 
bow came in sight. A winged length of arrow 
was strung in its deerskin thong. From his 
hiding-post Roger could see the perfectly pol¬ 
ished shaft of the arrow, and the glinting flint 
of its sharp tip. 

“And he himself was unarmed, not so much 
as a knife in his empty belt. Moreover, the 
garrison gate stood wide, invitingly defense¬ 
less, for the Indians skulking undoubtedly but 
a stone’s throw away. He must hit upon some 


136 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

desperate means of warning the post in time 
to close the great gates, to beat off the attack¬ 
ers. But if he started to run, the swift arrow 
of Silver Fox would instantly cut him down. 
If he cried out in warning, his puny voice 
would be drowned by the boom of the inbound 
surf and the racket inside the fort made by the 
stowing away of the supplies. Also, any out¬ 
cry would reveal his hiding-spot. Sweat began 
to bead his forehead. He shivered from the 
sheer helplessness of his plight. He might as 
well be a trussed-up fowl. 

“The Indian’s hideously painted shoulders 
moved. The great bow bent almost double. 
There was nothing strange about the mistake 
the redskin was making. It would only hasten 
their attack when the Indians discovered that 
the lone figure on the edge of the cornfield was 
merely an effigy on guard to intimidate the 
crows, rather than to protect the garrison 
against surprise. 

“Came a faint whirr. A line of light 
streaked out. Silver Fox had launched his 
arrow from the great bow. With incredible 
swiftness the missile sped straight for the soli¬ 
tary scarecrow in its silent vigil on the edge 
of the sowed ground. There was a pause, a 
ringing, metallic sound; a spark; and a ter- 


THE NICKED BLADE 


137 


rific flash lit up the night. Then followed a 
long, roaring boom. 

“ Figures ran to the gate of the stockade, 
even as the Indians, ready to rush the fort, 
stood appalled. Another boom-boom, and the 
world seemed rent asunder by hidden light¬ 
nings. 

“Then the great gate was clanged shut. 
Fire burst from between chinked logs. Rattle 
of musketry followed. Calthrope had seen the 
redskins, silhouetted by the moonlight against 
the sea. While he didn’t know what had caused 
the thunderous roaring outside, he had acted 
most effectively. The Indians fled through the 
jumble of rock shadows. The garrison and its 
fresh supply of powder and ball was spared. ’’ 

“I know what happened!” exclaimed Blun- 
der-Beth, hopping up. “The flint-tip of Sil¬ 
ver Fox’s arrow nicked this sword blade swing¬ 
ing from the scarecrow. It struck a spark, 
touched off the loose powder scattered about 
on the broken head of the smashed powder- 
keg.” 

“Just that,” affirmed their grandmother. 
“A tinder-box, you see. Flint and steel, a leap¬ 
ing spark, and a roar like hidden, magic thun¬ 
der as the powder exploded.” 

“My goodness!” ejaculated Steven. “So 


138 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


that’s the story of the nicked sword! Well, I 
wouldn’t have guessed the answer in a month 
of moons!” 

“No, you would not,” agreed Grandmother 
Stanton. “Put back the blade in its worn 
scabbard, Beth. The smoke of powder stained 
the steel, but Roger’s grateful fingers polished 
it bright again. The nick he left as a re¬ 
minder of the way even fine folderols may 
prove of use in some perilous moment. One 
can never tell, we find, just what is or is not 
useful, today or then.” 

(end of book one) 



BOOK TWO 

The Ghost at Haunted Hollow 
PART I 

The Deserted Mansion 

Steven squinted through the freckling drops 
of moisture on the windshield. The shadows 
lay inky deep in the thread of a road. The lit¬ 
tle car wobbled and rocked, like a cockle-shell 
on a restless sea. 

“I say, Nancy,” he suggested, “just take 
your handkerchief and dab some of the wet off 
the windshield, won’t you, please? I can’t see 
a thing with these smears. This trail’s queer. 
Seems as if I see a fork ahead. That’s not 
shown on the road-map. Wonder what’s 
wrong, anyhow.” 

Nancy rubbed vigorously at the spattered 
glass. Blunder-Beth leaned forward eagerly. 
Her sturdy, brown fingers swished at the 
streaked windshield with the end of her four- 
in-hand. The road now appeared, an indis¬ 
tinct, gray thread flanked by sable evergreens. 

Steven stopped the car. Anxiously, he poked 
his head out from the side-curtains. He turned 
his swivel spot-light full ahead. 

139 


140 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

“Lost!” tie muttered. “I must have taken 
the wrong turn back ten miles or so.” 

The rain came down with redoubled fury, 
tapping at the top of the car with hollow, muf¬ 
fled fingers. 

Nancy shivered. “Grandmother Stanton 
will be very much worried,” she said, glancing 
at the clock on the dash. “We’re hopelessly 
late already, and she was having hot biscuits 
and honey for us especially.” 

“Good!” ejaculated Blunder-Beth irrele¬ 
vantly. “Isn’t it a lark? I love getting lost, 
like Babes in the Woods. I—Ouch! ” 

She thumped, like a limp sack of grain, 
against the door as Steven suddenly stepped 
on the accelerator and started the car with an 
abrupt jerk. 

“Ough! That’s my crazy bone!” 

She rubbed it vigorously. 

“Look!” exclaimed Nancy in a hushed whis¬ 
per, “the trees are thinning out on the right 
fork. And there’s the blurred outline of some 
kind of a building-” 

“Black as soot,” put in Blunder-Beth, peck¬ 
ing diligently at the ache in her elbow. “Regu¬ 
lar ark of a place. Not a light, either. Ugh! 
Gives me the creeps. I’ll bet there are bats 
skimming about here. If I as much as stick my 


THE DESERTED MANSION 141 

head out of the car one’ll be sure to get 
snagged in my bob.” 

“Yea, verily,” quoth Steven in a sepulchral 
tone. “Not one, but many. You could start a 
zoo!” 

“Looks as if there were rats there also,” 
added Nancy, as they sped towards the dark 
silhouette. 

“Oh, you girls! Always seeing bogies in 
the dark!” 

The rain now began to come down literally 
in sheets, and the road turned to a river. The 
tires squashed through, skidding coquettishly 
on the rear wheels. The windshield dimmed 
again, opaque with drops and steaming mois¬ 
ture. 

“It’s no use,” declared Steven excitedly. 
“We’ll have to hold up here until the storm 
lets up a bit. Any port in a storm’s better 
than this poking about on a slick road without 
chains, when we’re likely to skid into the ditch 
any moment-” 

“Please pass me my poke,” requested Blun- 
der-Beth, her eyes wide with zest of adven¬ 
ture. “I’ll pull it down over my head until 
just the tip of my nose sticks out. I’m not 
keen for offering my hair as a roosting place 
for bats.” 


142 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

She pulled her hat low over her unruly hair. 

Steven got out, as they pulled up into a 
weed-grown drive. 

The house seemed even larger on a closer 
view. It was of old-time architecture, with 
massive, Doric columns marching across the 
wide veranda at the front. It was generously 
besprinkled with gables, windows and wings, 
petering out to a long, rambling shed, attached 
to the structure in the rear. The blinds sagged 
at rakish angles. Some of the panes were 
broken. The forlorn glass stared out into the 
darkness, like wary eyes watching from the 
dark. There were thick pines scattered here 
and there on the unkempt grounds. They, too, 
added to the mysterious appearance of the de¬ 
serted mansion. 

A blind clacked suddenly as Steven went 
boldly to a broad, side door under a decrepit, 
weather-beaten arbor. He knocked thunder¬ 
ously. 

Blunder-Beth laughed in the darkness. 

“Isn’t habit a funny thing !” she exclaimed. 
“ Here's Steven knocking at an empty house, 
and three miles back he blew at a railroad 
crossing!” 

“I’m trying to arouse the bats,” Steven 
flung back, as his voice issued in muffled tones 
from under the arbor. 


THE DESERTED MANSION 


143 


“Hurryl” urged Nancy. “We’re getting 
soaked to the skin, and it’s beginning to beat 
in the car. We’ll have to get a new top-” 

“Leaks like a sieve,” added Blunder-Beth, 
vigorously polishing a drop from the end of 
her nose. “Water’s running down my back 
already, just like a ghost’s hand.” 

“Don’t!” objected Nancy. “I can stand 
bats and mice, but I draw the line at ghosts.” 

“All right,” cheerfully acceded Beth. “By 
request, we won’t see any ghosts then-” 

Steven was hallooing faintly. His voice 
seemed to have receded further than the arbor. 

“Come on in,” he invited. “The door’s un¬ 
locked. Bring the flashlights. Hurry!” 

Blunder-Beth dove into a side-pocket and 
pulled out two black cylinders—the pocket 
flashes. The girls clambered out, each armed 
with a flash. 

Pale white circles of light spotted the damp¬ 
ness. They revealed a broken marble slab, 
glistening before the sagged threshold. They 
showed a slit of darkness where Steven had 
unceremoniously lifted the latch and entered. 
The girls heard him clumping about inside. 

Beth caught her heel on a slick spot on the 
door-step. She performed a ticklish pirouette, 
recovering her balance barely in time. 



144 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


“I don’t fancy a bashed head,” she re¬ 
marked, “or this creepy old place.” 

“Better watch your step,” reminded Nancy 
gently. 

They entered a long, dark corridor. It was 
panelled in time-stained wood. A magnificent 
carved balustrade escorted bare stairs around 
a spiral to the second floor. A majestic Knight 
in Armor stood against the panelled wainscot¬ 
ing. 

Blunder-Beth was sniffing eagerly. Puzzle¬ 
ment was in her eyes. 

“S-seems to m-me I s-smell something 
besides d-dampness and mildew,” she stam¬ 
mered, as she sometimes did when gripped 
with great excitement. 

“I do, too,” admitted Nancy, as if discredit¬ 
ing her senses. 

“S-smells like s-something to eat.” 

“Heigh-oh!” called out Steven. “Hurry 
up, you girls! Stop chattering there like mag¬ 
pies. Blunder-Beth, pass over your flashlight, 
please, like a good scout.” 

Steven took the electric torch and flung a 
scarring light onto the kitchen door. It was 
slightly ajar. 

“Some one’s cooking supper,” he declared, 
“or my nose is wrong. It’s lucky we knocked 
and didn’t walk in on them.” 


THE DESERTED MANSION 


145 


44 Funny way—eating supper in the dark,” 
murmured Beth. 

Gingerly Steven knocked on the partly open 
door. They heard a faint snapping. But no 
other sound startled the stillness. No inquir¬ 
ing voice either challenged their presence or 
bade them enter. Silence lay heavy every¬ 
where. 

Steven knocked again. Still there came no 
answer. 

Impatiently Blunder-Beth prodded the half¬ 
open door with her elbow. It snapped back, 
like the crack of an invisible whip. 

Steven flung his light within. It fell on 
crimson embers smoldering on the wide stone 
fireplace. From the dog-irons a crane reared 
a gaunt, black elbow over the coals. Upon it 
a huge black kettle was suspended. Faint 
wisps of smoke coiled upward, smudging 
transparent fingers against the masonry. 

There was little furniture in the great 
kitchen; a plain wooden table, topped by a dim 
square of oilcloth, also two chairs. On the oil¬ 
cloth lay bread, hastily hacked from the loaf, 
a tin of meat, half consumed, and condensed 
milk. 

Nancy was stooping close to the steaming 
kettle. 


146 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


“Soup,” she announced, “or rather, stew. 
It smells-” 

“Yum-yum,” finished Beth. “That's how 
it smells. My, but I'm famished. I'm so hun- 
gry.” 

Steven was squinting out the back door. 

“There're prints of footsteps on the flag¬ 
ging,” he stated. “Sizable steps, made by 
heavy-heeled boots. They disappear down the 
flagging towards the shed. Wonder what we'd 
better do!” 

“I've found a candlestick!” announced 
Blunder-Beth from one end of the mantel¬ 
piece over the fireplace. 

“And I've found a length of candle,” sec¬ 
onded Nancy, from the opposite end. 

Steven fished in his pocket for a match. 
Soon the candle was sputtering from the rusty 
holder in the middle of the table. 

“We’d better conserve our flashes,” sug¬ 
gested Steven with a boyish air of command. 
“No knowing what we may be in for before 
we get home and the rain holds up.” 

“I don’t like this place,” decided Nancy. 
“It's spooky.” 

Steven was studying his road-map with the 
aid of the flickering candle. 

“Oh, I see,” he was saying aloud. “This is 
where I went wrong, and we are now here.” 




BLUNDER'BETH PRODDED THE HALF'OPEN DOOR 



















148 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

He jabbed bis little finger on a point of tbe 
map. Tbe girls leaned over eagerly. 

“Wby!” gulped Blunder-Betb. “We’re in 
—Haunted Hollow. Whatever does that 
mean?” 

Steven frowned at tbe black letters. They 
might have been inky spectres trooping across 
his vision. 

“I’ve heard of Haunted Hollow,” he said 
slowly. “Grandmother Stanton’s often men¬ 
tioned it. And this must be the old Mainwar- 
ing mansion that dates back to Eevolutionary 
times.” 

“Isn’t t-there—isn’t there s-supposed to be 
a g-ghost in this house?” stuttered Blunder- 
Beth, her eyes big with recollection. 

“There is. I remember,” declared Nancy. 
“That’s why it is called Haunted Hollow. The 
ghost walks down in the willows in the hollow 
where the bank slopes at the south, at the 
opposite side from where we entered. Nobody 
ever comes here.” 

“I think,” interposed Steven excitedly, sud¬ 
denly sensing his responsibility for the safety 
of the two girls, “that we’d better search this 
place if we must spend the night here. Come 
on! Let’s start through the house.” 

He took the sputtering candle and pushed 
his way back into the hall. 


PAET II 

Through Bolted Doors 

“See this jolly old-timer, standing guard 
with drawn sword,” pointed out Steven, hold¬ 
ing the flaring candle high. 

It spurted flickering lights across the rusted 
giant figure in armor. The casque ended in a 
spur, the halberd was dappled with rust, and 
the sword in the gauntleted fist was encased in 
a heavy scabbard which rested on one mailed 
toe. The figure was wedged tight into the cor¬ 
ner of the dim, panelled hall, its broad, 
armored back leaning heavily against the 
wainscoting. 

“What a pity,” exclaimed Nancy, “to leave 
such a wonderful suit of mail to rust out 
here!” 

“It’s colossal,” exclaimed Steven. “Tre¬ 
mendously heavy. It would have to be re¬ 
moved in sections with block and tackle, or a 
derrick.” 

They now began their search of the rooms 
on the first floor. But the interiors were bare, 
forlorn and empty. There was no furniture 
there. Every room showed a fine old fireplace, 
blackened with neglect and dampness. 


149 


150 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


They went up the winding staircase. It 
creaked and groaned in protest under their 
weight. Their tread echoed and re-echoed 
through the silent house. Their figures spat¬ 
tered giant silhouettes on wall and floor. But 
neither the second nor third floor revealed any 
hint of recent habitation. The house above 
stairs was as empty and deserted as a tomb. 

44 Bunny who skipped away from the 
kitchen,” mused Blunder-Beth. “Must be 
some tramp, trying to get shelter from the 
rain. Perhaps he feared that we might be the 
rightful owners, caretakers, or agents.” 

44 Perhaps they’ll come back,” murmured 
Nancy doubtfully. 

“They will if they’re as hungry as I am,” 
muttered Steven. 

44 I hope they invite us to supper,” groaned 
Beth, sniffing at the darkness. “I can almost 
smell that stew way up here.” 

They descended the broad stairs. Steven 
led the way boldly towards the kitchen. 

4 4 That’s curious!” he flung over his 
shoulder. 

44 What’s curious?” demanded Blunder- 
Beth. 

44 I left this door half open, after you girls 
went out. It’s closed now. ’ ’ 


THROUGH BOLTED DOORS 


151 


“Perhaps the wind flung it shut,” suggested 
Nancy. 

“We’d have heard it bang then,” declared 
Blunder-Beth. “It’s a heavy door, and it 
would take a big shove to close it.” 

“Yea, righto, Miss Sherlock,” agreed Ste¬ 
ven. “Well, I hate to be a confirmed knocker, 
but here goes-” 

He flung his knuckles against the heavy 
panels. 

They waited breathlessly for some scraping 
of a chair, for some faint footfall. But none 
came. Silence hung as heavy as the dust and 
the neglect over the old place. 

With marked hesitation Steven pushed 
down the latch, opening the door. He held 
his candle high. 

The smoldering carmine of the embers had 
blanched to a pale pink. The table appeared 
just as they had left it, likewise the two 
wooden chairs. 

“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Blunder-Beth pen¬ 
sively, licking at her lips. ‘‘The pot of stew 
is gone! How very unfriendly!” 

“Well, there wasn’t enough to go around,” 
said Nancy, consolingly. 

Steven strode to the rear door and opened it. 
The wind veered sharply. It flung darts of 



152 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


moisture into his face. Outside the night was 
pitch dark. 

“Well, there’s nothing to be gained by look¬ 
ing into blackness,” he decided. “Let’s go 
ahead and eat what’s left on the table.” 

Blunder-Beth had been poking about in a 
little cupboard. 

“Here’s a tin of cocoa,” she discovered joy¬ 
ously. “I’ll rout out a kettle, and twe’ll boil 
some water. The tin of condensed milk will 
make fine cocoa.” 

“Wonder where the well is,” queried 
Nancy. “There’s no sign of a cistern in this 
old kitchen—not a drop of water.” 

“It’s raining buckets,” reminded Blunder- 
Beth. “Let’s just put the dish outside, rinse 
it out, and catch rain-water enough to boil for 
cocoa.” 

“Good idea!” approved Steven. 

He carried the bucket to the door and placed 
it on the wet flagging outside. The rain pat¬ 
tered into it busily. 

“We shall have to find firewood to coax 
these discouraged embers into life,” pointed 
out Nancy. “There’s not a thing here.” 

They searched about, but Nancy was right. 
There wasn’t a stick of anything burnable. 

“Well,” decided Steven, “here’s where I 
scout into the cellar. Perhaps there are some 


THROUGH BOLTED DOORS 152 

old boxes or other flimsy riff-raff down there. 
At least it will be dry. I’ll take a flashlight 
along.” 

He set the candle on the table, and went 
towards the door. 

“And I’ll bolt this back door,” he added, as 
he flung the rusty bolt into its barring posi¬ 
tion. 

“I’m going to lock the side door,” recalled 
Blunder-Beth, scampering out with the other 
torch. “I’ll be back in a moment.” 

As she returned, bright-eyed and pink¬ 
cheeked, Steven went down the cellar stairs. 

Nancy was cutting bread in small slices with 
the largest blade of Steven’s jack-knife. The 
tin of meat had been emptied out on a plate. 

Blunder-Beth sniffed at it. 

“Well, it’s better than nothing. I feel fool¬ 
ish enough coming in here and helping our¬ 
selves to someone else’s supplies.” 

“If they’d wanted it, they’d have taken it 
with the stew,” protested Nancy. Besides, 
we’ll leave money on the table to pay for it if 
someone’s still lurking about, too bashful to 
join us.” 

“I don’t like this disappearing act,” ob¬ 
jected Blunder-Beth, shaking her bobbed 
head. “It seems too secret.” 

“I don’t like it either,” admitted Nancy. 


154 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

“But we’re lucky to be inside, safe and dry. 
As soon as we get a fire blazing and steaming 
hot cocoa, we’ll be snug until morning and 
ready to hurry away.” 

“Steven seems to be an awfully long time, 
poking about in that spooky old cellar. Won¬ 
der if he’s found any boxes or anything to 
burn-” 

Beth went to the cellar door. She cupped 
her lips with her palm. 

“Steven. Oh Steven!” she called out. 

No answer. 

“Steven!” Her voice rose more shrilly. 
“Wonder why he doesn’t answer!” 

“Probably he’s in some far corner and your 
voice won’t reach him.” 

Blunder-Beth went down three steps lower. 
She shouted again. 

Then she called back to Nancy: “Come on, 
Nancy. We must keep together. Bring the 
candle. Steven ought to hear me anywhere. 
There’s not a sound of his poking about. I’m 
getting scared.” 

Her voice ended in a plaintive little treble. 
Nancy came down and patted her reassur¬ 
ingly. 

‘‘There, there,’’ she sympathized. “You’re 
hungry and tired.” 


THROUGH BOLTED DOORS 155 

The two girls descended hastily together, 
holding the candle high. They took the flash¬ 
light to be prepared for any emergency. The 
battery cell in it was fresh, so it ought to last 
them well if called into service. 

The cellar bottom was pounded down hard. 
Moisture glistened on the bricks of the two 
huge chimneys and from the masonry of the 
foundations. Boxes and barrels were flung 
helter-skelter in all directions. They were 
fresh boxes and barrels, and there was excel¬ 
sior, plenty of it, strewn about. 

“ Steven!” they called out together. 

No answer. 

They searched about among the riff-raff. 
But there was no sign of him there. 

“Come” summoned Nancy quickly. “Here’s 
a bulkhead. Help me push it. It’s quite un¬ 
fastened.” 

They strained together. Nancy flung the 
light of the candle down on the wooden steps. 

“See!” she noted hastily, “they’re wet!” 

“That means,” recognized Blunder-Beth 
promptly, “that the bulkhead door’s been up 
—very recently ” 

“Maybe Steven went out for something.’ 

‘That would be very foolish, and not like 
him.” 


156 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

There was a large rusty hook on the under 
edge of the bulkhead. Nancy fastened it. 

“Come, let’s go back. If Steven’s outside, 
maybe he’s back in the kitchen.” 

“Not through a bolted door,” objected 
Blunder-Beth. 

“Steven would find a way by the windows. 
Come!” 

They raced back up the stairs, carrying a 
box of excelsior between them. They hooked 
the cellar door after them. But Steven had 
not returned to the kitchen. 

“What’s to be done?” demanded Beth. 
“I’m—I’m almost frightened.” 

“I don’t like it either, but Steven’s pretty 
wise for a boy. We can trust him to find some 
way out of a scrape if he’s fallen into one.” 

“Perhaps he met the man with the 
stew-” 

“Or the spook of Haunted Hollow,” 
laughed Nancy with forced gaiety. She was 
trying to reassure Beth and banish her grow¬ 
ing alarm. 

The girls started a cheerful, little blaze and 
soon had the water boiling. They drank cocoa 
and ate bread and meat, keeping Steven’s 
share for him. 


THROUGH BOLTED DOORS 157 

Then they went to the windows and looked 
out. The rain still pelted the house, and dark¬ 
ness held like a sable curtain outside. They 
couldn’t see beyond their noses, as Beth said. 

“I think,” began Nancy slowly, “that we 
made a mistake hooking the bulkhead doors. 
Suppose Steven did go to investigate some¬ 
thing? You know how adventuresome he is 
and how he dotes on solving any kind of a mys¬ 
tery. Just suppose he discovered something 
that might reveal the secret of Haunted Hol¬ 
low, and he’s following it up. He might want 
to hurry back through the bulkhead door. 
Let’s go back and unhook it. We can keep 
this door here bolted down onto the cellar 
stairs.” 

“All right,” agreed practical-minded Beth. 
“And we’ll bring up another box for kin¬ 
dling.” 

They slipped down the stairs and through 
the damp cellar like flitting shadows. They 
cast fearful side glances where their candle 
light faded out into the darkness. They sped 
along to the bulkhead. Then they both paused 
abruptly. 

As usual, Blunder-Beth was first to recover 
speech. She stared with wide and unbelieva¬ 
ble eyes. 


158 BLUNDER'S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


“Why! Oh, why!” she exclaimed. “We 
hooked the doors, didn’t we?” 

She seemed to want Nancy’s reassuring 
words. 

“Of course we did,” confirmed Nancy in¬ 
stantly. 

Blunder-Beth began to back away, as if she 
beheld a ghost. 

“B-b-but, one-half of the bulkhead’s up! 
A-a-and, the hook’s b-been r-ripped out. 
There’s only a hole there now. Oh, oh, I don’t 
like this place! It’s full of shadows and queer 
doings we can’t see. Come, let’s run!” 

Nancy followed her swift steps back into the 
locked safety of the kitchen. 



PART III 
The Ghost 

After a while they dozed fitfully—curled-up 
girlish figures in the great room. Outside 
leaden clouds raced along the horizon like 
white galleons on a storm-tossed sea. The 
rain no longer fell in hissing, spattering 
spears of moisture. The wind blew fresh and 
strong from the south. 

Blunder-Beth started up. She flung the 
sleep from her eyes as a small terrier shakes 
moisture from his furry jacket. Her body 
was singularly taut, as if she had suddenly 
been stirred to consciousness by some terri¬ 
fying dream. She shivered slightly, though 
the pale embers on the great fireplace still gave 
forth a faint, coral glow. 

Swiftly her eyes raced to Nancy’s sleeping 
face. The girl had flung one arm across a 
cleared spot on the table. Her face rested 
upon it, and her lips curved slightly as she 
smiled at some antic done in sleep. 

Beth looked about her in the dim room. 
What had aroused her so suddenly? She had 
been dead tired. And she always slept like a 


159 


160 BLUNDER'S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


“regular log,” as she told everybody. She 
frowned a little, got up and tiptoed towards 
the window, following a blind instinct she was 
unable for the moment to define. 

Down the southern slope a long line of black 
crawled like a giant boa constrictor. It was 
the smudged outline of the willows that snug¬ 
gled into the little hollow in the dip between 
the grades. Under those willows the Ghost of 
Haunted Hollow was reputed to walk. Many 
weird tales were afloat concerning the deserted 
old mansion. 

Had some sound come up from the Hollow 
and pierced her sleep ? 

As Beth looked she beheld the palest flicker 
of light at the dark line of willows. It sifted 
along the ground, setting up a series of serpen¬ 
tine coils. 

Then Beth became conscious of a tall, black 
shape. 

She felt no sensation of fear. She was in¬ 
tensely sceptical. She rubbed at her eyes, 
wondering if some flaw in the window-glass 
had caused her to imagine she saw that tall, 
black figure. Oddly enough, it seemed with¬ 
out arms or a head, a lank spatter of black, 
“like an unbroken exclamation-point,” she 
told herself. 


THE GHOST 


161 


4 ‘The Ghost at Haunted Hollow,” she whis¬ 
pered. “The Ghost at Haunted Hollow!” 

She dashed over to the sleeping Nancy and 
touched her. 

“Nancy,” she called, “Nancy!” 

Nancy stirred, opened her eyes and stared 
blankly at the eager, flushed face. 

“W-w-wha-at is—the matter?” she asked 
thickly. 

She was slow to awaken, quite unlike Beth 
in leaping pell-mell to decisions. 

“Come, come,” whispered Blunder-Beth ex¬ 
citedly. “The ghost is out—down in the hol¬ 
low. It’s walking there! ’ ’ 

She led Nancy swiftly to the window. The 
two girls peered through. They pressed their 
noses against the glass. A faint tongue of 
light seemed still to run along the hollow space 
between the double lines of willows. The 
trunks appeared like giant prison-bars shut¬ 
ting in some glowing cell. 

But the black shape was gone! 

“I see nothing but a light,” objected Nancy. 
“Is that the ghost?” 

“No. Oh, dear, it seems to be coming this 
way!” 

The moments ticked by—breathless, rather 
terrifying moments. 


162 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


After what seemed an eternity, they heard a 
faint noise in the hall outside. 

“What was that?” exclaimed Blunder- 
Beth, clutching at Nancy’s elbow. “Out in the 

hall!” 

They stood very still, scarcely daring to 
breathe. 

Their silence was rewarded. It came again, 
a faint, hollow, ringing sound, like the muf¬ 
fled clang of some distant temple-bell. 

Like a flash Blunder-Beth stripped off her 
pumps and tiptoed across the floor to the heavy 
door. Its latch lay like a shrunken tongue of 
metal in the original hole that had been fash¬ 
ioned for it. This opening was several sizes 
too large. Beth slipped one eye to the space, 
taking care not to make it clatter and reveal 
her spying presence. Nancy hovered at her 
elbow. 

“Somebody’s moving out in the hall.” 
Beth’s words were the faintest whisper. “I 
can just see a Mack shape beyond the big 
Knight in Armor. . . . And, oh, Nancy, it's 
coming this way! It’s coming this way! Oh, 
I’m so frightened! It’s the spook up from the 
hollow!” 

“Hush! warned Nancy, though her voice 


THE GHOST 


163 


quivered. “This door’s bolted. It’s awfully 
heavy.” 

“B-but, w-what’s a d-door to a s-sp-spoo-ok! 
It can come through the latch-hole!” 

Nancy smiled in the dark. Then her face 
sobered. 

The two stood listening. But they heard 
nothing—no soft, approaching footsteps, no 
swish of ghostly garments, no clatter of ring¬ 
ing metal- 

Slowly the latch on the door began to move, 
to rise. 

Blunder-Beth covered her mouth with her 
fist, backing away. 

As noiselessly the latch dropped again, 
trickling away to silence. 

Then a whisper filtered through that hole 
above the latch: 

“Sshh, shh! Nancy! Beth! Nancy, I say.” 

“It’s Stevenl” Blunder-Beth almost for¬ 
got to whisper in her excitement. 

Swiftly she unbolted the door. 

Steven came in, a curiously laden Steven. 
Across his shoulders he carried a gunny sack. 
Many huge bumps protruded from it, like 
some generously loaded Christmas pack. 

He bolted the door behind him. He put the 
loaded bag onto the floor. 


164 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

His face was streaked with rain and mud; 
his shoes were soggy. They went squash- 
squash where he stood, and his clothes drooped 
muddy and sodden. But his eyes blazed with 
boyish excitement. 

“Such a lark! I’ve found out the secret of 
Haunted Hollow. And— I’ve laid the ghost!” 

“W-wh-what is it?” came in unison. 

Steven leaned against the table, mopping 
his face with a dingy handkerchief. 

“How did you get out of the cellar?” asked 
Blunder-Beth hurriedly, without waiting for 
his answer. 

“ Walked out” he told them, “—on the trail 
of the ghost. ... I was ducked down behind 
some of the boxes, pulling out excelsior, when 
I heard a noise in the other wing of the cellar. 
I crawled over to investigate. And what do 
you think, girls?” 

“What, oh, what?” excitedly. 

“There’s a flat stone on The cellar bottom 
there. It began to rise, like the lid on a box. 
A tall figure in black came up. I thought it 
would never stop coming up, it was so lank 
and long. 

“And when it got out, it was a long streak 
of black, straight as a beanpole. It was all 
dressed up in a black robe that almost dragged 


THE GHOST 


165 


on the cellar bottom. It streaked through to 
the bulkhead, unlocked it and went out into 
the darkness. I went after the thing. It 
went down to the willows. I kept at a cau¬ 
tious distance. 

“When I got down there a curious thing 
happened. There was another big flat stone 
at the base of one of the willow trunks. The 
black figure pulled it up. Another one came 
out, all done up in black. This one wasn’t so 
tall. He carried this gunny sack on his back. 
They put their heads together. After a bit 
both of them went down the hollow along 
under the willows. ... I had a sudden idea 
then, that they’d go back to the old house 
through the secret tunnel, capped by the big 
rocks. So I went up to the cellar as fast as I 
could. I loaded all the bricks and heavy stones 
I could find onto the flat stone there.” 

“S-suppose they should s-suffocate!” stut¬ 
tered Blunder-Beth. 

“They’ve got it all ventilated with pipes 
that come out into the stubble. You wouldn’t 
notice them except on a close-up examination. 
. . . Then I raced back to the willows to 
await developments. They were still out of 
sight. So I crawled out and dragged this bag 
away from where they had left it to a clump 


166 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

of grass beyond where I was hiding. When 
they came back there was a pretty to-do over 
the mysterious disappearance of the bag. They 
pulled up the stone, and dove into the tunnel, 
like rabbits into a warren. I was ready for 
them. I piled big stones on that end of the 
tunnel. And IVe got them trapped! There’s 
no danger of their suffocating, so don’t worry 
about that. It’s jolly well ventilated, as I 
found out.” 

“What’s in the bag"?” demanded Blunder- 
Beth. 

“That remains to be seen.” 

He took out his jack-knife and ripped the 
sack open. 

They cried out in surprise. 

Silver cups, plates, spoons, all kinds of as¬ 
sorted vessels made of silver, glimmered up 
darkly. They were exceedingly heavy and 
rich. Many of them were etched. 

“Regular old Sheffield,” recognized Nancy. 
“Like Grandmother Stanton has. Almost a 
whole silver service. Wherever did they 
get it?” 

“That’s easy,” replied Steven instantly. 
“They got it at the Dillingham’s. Don’t you 
remember a couple of months ago, that the 
house was burglarized and all the fine old 



A TALL FIGURE IN BLACK CAME UP 








168 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

family plate taken ? It was the first big house¬ 
breaking in this vicinity, although there seems 
to be enough happening elsewhere. I believe 
that these are two of a gang that comb the 
country for unprotected estates and a deserted 
place to hide away their dishonestly acquired 
goods in safety.” 

“Perhaps there’s a reward out for them,” 
suggested Beth. 

“Oh, another thing,” recalled Steven. “I 
believe the tunnel in the cellar follows an 
abandoned secret staircase running to the 
panels in the hall wainscoting, and that the 
Knight in Armor covers the opening. One of 
the mail plates in the back of the figure seems 
to be loose. I peeked in through one of the 
eye-holes. Evidently this old house has been 
the secret storage vault of much stolen goods.” 

“What made the black figure appear so 
terribly tall?” 

“Trickery,” rapped Steven. “The fellow 
had a broomstick to increase his height, and to 
strengthen the spook story about the haunted 
house, in order to keep away any unwelcome 
stragglers.” 

When morning came Steven took the girls 
to Grandmother Stanton’s. Then he went to 


THE GHOST 


169 


the office of the sheriff. Some time later the 
sheriff unearthed the secret store of hidden, 
stolen property. Steven’s theory concerning 
the Knight in Armor proved to be correct. 
Later, by careful questioning, the two miser¬ 
able fellows, caught in the tunnel, gave in¬ 
formation sufficient for capturing the rest of 
the group. 

So the Ghost of Haunted Hollow was 
effectively laid when Steven took the wrong 
trail to the deserted old mansion. 



THE RIDDLE OF RAVENSWOOD 


PART I 

The Florentine Chest 

The sun dipped down like a fiery lozenge 
into the rent between the hills. Twilight 
ladled out purple and amethyst shadows 
through the valleys. Wisps of fog-damp crept 
out of the deepening crevices. An owl hooted 
in a plaintive, minor Whoo-whoo from the 
concealing shadows of a spruce over the high, 
gray wall. 

Steven stopped his Pilot car before the 
arched opening. Heavy gates of Venetian 
grill-work barred the entrance. Pilot honked 
twice. 

Immediately, as if urged by unseen fingers, 
the great gates trembled, moved, buckled in¬ 
ward. Majestically, they opened their black, 
barring lips, like some sluggish monster sud¬ 
denly prodded to activity by hidden, com¬ 
manding hands. 

“My!” exclaimed Blunder-Beth. “Isn’t it 
spooky and delightful—blowing open the gates 
of Bagdad so!” 


170 


THE FLORENTINE CHEST 171 

“Electric,” explained Steven meticulously, 
“ controlled by a switch in the house. Pretty 
clever, I call it.” 

Pilot crunched along the white shell drive. 
It wound like a frosted tendril to the porch 
on the side of the sprawling, gray house. The 
dwelling lay embedded in its acres of ever¬ 
greens. The great gates closed noiselessly 
behind them with only a slight indicative click 
of the automatic lock. 

“Now, Steven,” began Nancy with final, 
warning concern, “do be careful not to say 
bully or anything slangy, you know. And 
don’t you dare forget about those forks! If— 
if you have any doubts, just wait, do you hear, 
and watch Aunt Sarah. I don’t know what 
new things she may have imported—fancy 
fads we may never have seen. B-but, Steven, 
don’t get absent-minded. Just stop, look and 
listen!” 

“Oh dear,” blurted out Blunder-Beth dole¬ 
fully, shaking her head. “Oh, deary dear! I 
know my hands’ll shake so that I’ll spill the 
soup all over myself. I just know they will. 
I’m scared blue—indigo!” 

Steven laughed. “Well, as long as you don’t 
fall into it and have to be fished out-” 


172 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

“Children,” groaned Nancy in mock horror, 
“where have you been reared!” 

Their three laughs rang out simultaneously. 
Nancy’s voice was such an admirable imita¬ 
tion of Grandmother Stanton’s oft-repeated 
lament. 

“Oh dear,” wailed Blunder-Beth. “I’ve 
caught my stocking on the footrest! Now 
there’s a slit as long as an inch-worm above my 
heel! What shall I do?” 

‘ 4 Wounded already! ’’ exclaimed Steven. 
“Received in bad condition. Return at owner’s 
risk, Nancy.” 

“It is a bad hole,” appraised Nancy, frown¬ 
ing at the rent. “Isn’t that just like you, 
Blunder-Beth! We should have crated you.” 

“Crated nothing,” scoffed Steven. “Sent 
her in a box car!” 

“But the hole in my heel,” bemoaned Beth. 
“What’s the use of poking fun at me? That 
won’t mend it.” 

“Cracky, I have it! I’m getting to be a 
perfect lady.” 

Steven dipped into a side pocket and 
brought out an object. He fumbled into it 
excitedly, slowing down into safe second and 
crawling along the drive as he guided the car 


THE FLORENTINE CHEST 


173 


with one hand. He passed over a little tin 
box to Nancy. 

“Try this First Aid to the wounded—hose,” 
he suggested. 

“The box of surgeons’ tape!” ejaculated 
Blunder-Beth. “Hurrah! I’m saved!” 

“Stuff and nonsense,” returned the boy. 
“Your life doesn’t hang by the thread of your 
stocking heel, Lady Achilles.” 

In a twinkling Nancy cut off a length of the 
sticky tape. She deftly inserted it under the 
tear and drew the edges neatly together, 
patting them down. In a moment the distress¬ 
ing rent had vanished. 

“Blessings on that triple-knit heel!” exulted 
Blunder-Beth. “It’s now an invisible wound. 
Puzzle: Find the hole in my heel!” 

“Richard is himself again,” quoted Steven. 

“Gracious, my heart is fluttering like a fly¬ 
wheel,” confessed Beth. “I’ve begun to 
blunder badly already. What will I do before 
morning! ’ ’ 

“Hush!” warned Nancy with matronly con¬ 
cern. “The door at the side entrance is open¬ 
ing.” 

“My goodness!” exclaimed Steven. “Look 
at the What-is-it all dressed up in silver and 


174 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

lavender! Can it walk? can it talk? or does it 
too run by an electric switch?” 

The liveried servant came down to the car. 
His face was as expressionless as a man¬ 
darin’s. Like a well-greased puppet, he bowed 
slightly, reached for the tonneau door, opened 
it and stood stiffly at attention. 

The girls got out demurely. But Blunder- 
Beth’s mouth twitched several times. Her 
little face was set grimly in a laudable effort 
to appear casual and dignified, rather than 
scared and amused. 

The manikin in livery deftly reached into 
the rear seat and brought out the big leather 
suit-case. But in Beth’s tightly clenched right 
fist gleamed the new, diminutive week-end 
case. A wave of color raced to her hair. She 
attempted to screen the box with her body. 
But Greataunt Sarah’s man reached out a 
firm, discovering hand and took it from her. 

“Miss Stanton is waiting for you in the 
library,” he announced. “She asks for you 
to come right in and see her for a few moments 
before dressing for dinner. I’ll show you to 
your rooms later.” 

He held open the paneled door. The 
gloomy, dark corridor glimmered like dull, 
burnished brass under the blazing lights of 


THE FLORENTINE CHEST 


175 


the scintillating overhead chandelier. Down 
the corridor, from their tarnished gilt frames, 
the painted effigies of many bygone Stantons 
stared through the screening shadows of the 
great hall. The parquetry of the ancient floors 
shone with satiny softness, anointed with the 
wax of service and mellowing years. Arras 
and tapestry, dusky and dim, only added to 
the mysterious richness of the hall. 

Blunder-Beth hugged herself ecstatically. 
She was wild to inform Nancy that it 
whispered of ravens, of skeletons in armor, 
and the spinneys where witches must have 
held sway every night in the year, let alone 
Hallowe’en. But the servant, elegant in 
lavender and silver, had touched her to dumb¬ 
ness. Gingerly he set their two pieces of lug¬ 
gage before the great hall fireplace, stepped 
back and gestured. 

“This way, please.” 

Meekly they followed him—demure Nancy 
in the lead, Blunder-Beth tugging at a stray 
lock over her left ear in a vain attempt to re¬ 
store the unruly curl to it, and Steven, who 
forgetfully lifted his heavy-rimmed spec¬ 
tacles to scratch at the bridge of his nose. 

The man in livery stopped before a closed 
door. He tapped lightly, then opened it. 


176 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

A little old lady sat in a huge, upholstered 
chair before a long table. A droplight stood 
on the polished top, splashing the table into 
a golden pool. 

The little figure arose from the chair and 
tripped forward to greet them. 

Thought Blunder-Beth: “She’s just a 
little sliver of a woman, spry as a bird, dark 
like one of her own ravens.” Bor Greataunt 
Sarah kept an aviary with many rare, 
feathered specimens from all over the world, 
with the English raven predominating. 

She came forward to meet them eagerly, 
touching the table with one slight, white hand 
as if for support. A concealed button trans¬ 
formed the room into a blaze of light. Quietly 
she studied them. 

“Nancy, Steven and Elizabeth,” she tabu¬ 
lated. “The Terrible Three! My, but you’ve 
grown! Straightened out, too. Steven I shall 
call Sir Beetle, because of his bristling brows 
and his goggle-eyed spectacles. Nancy shall 

be Lady Demure, and-” She turned to 

Beth. 

“I’m Blunder-Beth,” interposed the girl 
promptly, “because I’ve fallen through every¬ 
thing except—China.” 

Greataunt Sarah’s face glinted into silent, 



THE FLORENTINE CHEST 177 

amused merriment. Her eyes danced behind 
her spectacles, and her lips twitched. There 
was a slight resemblance between the two. 

“Indeed,” she smiled. “I fancy so. Per¬ 
haps you can blunder into the truth concern¬ 
ing the riddle of Ravenswood. Only I hope 
you don’t have to go to China for the answer.” 

“The riddle of Ravenswood!” the three 
chorused. “What is it?” 

“A puzzle?” added Beth, the irrepressible. 
“A ghost, a haunt, some dark mystery?” 

“You will know as soon as dinner is over 
We’ll come back here. It all surrounds that 
carved chest over there in the embrasure. I 
discovered it up in Florence. And I heartily 
wish it were back there!” 

She gestured at a long, dark, carved chest. 
It must have been at least seven feet in length. 
Its sides were wonderfully modeled into twin¬ 
ing leaves and cunningly concealed blossoms. 

“I’m very much afraid I’ve brought a 
haunted chest from Italy,” she told them. 
“How it came into my possession is quite a 
story. I was warned against purchasing it, 
but the warning merely amused me. After 
dinner you will hear all about it.” 

“Was that why you asked us down—to help 
you answer the riddle?” demanded Blunder- 


178 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

Beth, with all the confidence of sincere, secure 
sixteen. 

Greataunt Sarah smiled whimsically, in¬ 
dulgently. 

“Perhaps,’’ she admitted. “Though I con¬ 
fess I wanted to see how ‘terrible’ you have 
grown to be. I recall that Steven and Beth 
were always hunting for witches in Ravens- 
wood when they were knee-high to grass¬ 
hoppers. So I fancied you wouldn’t be bored 
spending a few days with your greataunt, par¬ 
ticularly when you learned of the pranks my 
Florentine chest has been playing on me.” 

“Oh goody!” exclaimed Beth, despite 
Nancy’s uplifted brows. “Won’t it be just 
too jolly for anything! We dote on riddles 
and mysteries.” 

“Yes. But we are about zestless on the 
doings of the dead and gone Hutchinsons,” 
interposed Steven. “It certainly will be fun 
mixing into a real, live mystery happening 
here now.” 

“Now, children!” dismissed their aunt, sud¬ 
denly spreading her arms wide. “Rim along 
now. Scrub your faces and get into your best 
bibs and tuckers. Blunder-Beth, the curl is 
sadly out of your left ear lock. Steven, there’s 
a smudge of car-grease under your chin. And 


THE FLORENTINE CHEST 


179 


Nancy—well, just suppose you wash off that 
pained and proper frown. I’m not so formal 
on second sight, you see. Just make your¬ 
selves at home. Never mind Jenkins’ high 
and mighty air. He doesn’t like my livery; 
the collar tickles his chin. That’s what makes 
him look so pained. Just forget him and the 
others. Pretend they’re part of the furniture.” 

They scampered away. But Blunder-Beth 
slipped on a bit of the high-glazed floor and 
went down with a loud thump—“ sliding to 
goal,” as Steven declared. 

Greataunt Sarah sat with the three grouped 
about her. They faced the huge, carved chest. 
She had turned the key in its beautifully 
chased lock and flung up the heavy, squeaking 
lid. Only mellow, gleaming wood stared back 
at them. 

Hurriedly Steven had examined it with his 
glasses close to the grain. Then he had 
studied the intricate carving, assisted by Beth. 

“Not the faintest sign of a hidden spring or 
panelling,” she stated disappointedly. 

“So much the better,” declared Nancy 
brightly, cheerfully. “Its secret will be all 
the deeper. I like hard riddles.” 

“It is a deep one,” agreed Greataunt Sarah. 


180 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


“Now stop fidgeting about and listen. . . . 
As we know there are many beggars in Italy. 
And Florence, or Firenze, is no exception. 
One night, just at twilight, I was crossing the 
Arno on one of the innumerable little bridges, 
when a cripple held out his cap to me. He was 
little more than a lad—about your age, Steven. 
I was struck by the plaintive, wistful beauty 
of his face. He looked like del Sarto’s ‘David.’ 
His face seemed to glow from the inside. I 
placed an English sovereign in his cap. I had 
brought the gold piece down to Florence from 
England. The gold was the exact shade of 
his hair. 

“ ‘Wait,’ he said to me in Italian, ‘Signor- 
ina, wait.’ 

“I waited, wondering, of course. The aver¬ 
age Italian beggar rarely says anything except 
‘Grazia’ and a few words of blessing. 

“ ‘Signorina,’ he entreated, ‘come back here 
at ten, when the people are not here. I will be 
at my post in the shadows of the arch farther 
along. I have a secret to impart to you. You 
are the first who has crossed my palm with 
gold since the paralysis crippled my body. 
And I am not ungrateful.’ 

“I promised to come. At ten o’clock he was 
there, a pathetic, eager, boyish figure. 


THE FLORENTINE CHEST 


181 


“ ‘Signorina,* lie begged, ‘come close and 
listen. Only the night winds are abroad and 
the stars. But even the night has ears and 
eyes; so I will whisper in Spanish. There’s 
a little shop ten blocks away in a tucked-in 
alley. It is the shop of Giovanni. So it is 
labeled ‘Giovanni, Collector of Curios* 
There’s a treasure in that shop which men call 
accursed. Well, most treasures are accursed. 
High fortune and danger walk hand in hand. 
It is a great Florentine chest, with a crest of 
the Medicis carved on the hilts of the swords 
, that are cunningly intertwined with the floral 
patterns. The chest is in disrepute. It is said 
to be ill-omened, attainted, to bring woe on 
whomever shall possess it. Hence it is shunned 
by collectors; hence it languishes, a magnifi¬ 
cent work of art, the relic of a great family, 
and a greater age. But I, Pietro, know better. 
There’s something weird about the chest, 
something strange and mysterious. It is not 
haunted. Oh, no! It is a treasure, greater 
than its carven sides indicate. Buy it, in all 
haste, Signorina. It may bring you perturba¬ 
tion, but it will also bring you joy. It will 
cause you to think. Buy it, I implore you. 
Giovanni will sell it for a song and give you 


182 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


his benediction for ridding his shop of its 
dark, forbidding presence.’ 

“I was impressed by the lad’s earnestness. 
I went to Giovanni’s shop the next night. You 
see how beautiful the chest is. And I bought 
it for less than a song—for a few bars of 
melody really.” 

“Not jazz,” commented Beth. “It looks 
like an aria from II Trovatore ” 

“Not bad for sixteen,” appreciated Great- 
aunt Sarah. 

“Looks like a casket to me,” decided Steven 
grimly. 

“Oh, Steven,” shivered Nancy, “what a ter¬ 
rible idea!” 

“Well, there’s still another story connected 
with its early history,” Greataunt Sarah in¬ 
formed them. “Giovanni told it to me. He 
was anxious that I should learn the worst 
about the chest, that I should not buy it with¬ 
out knowing its ancient, questionable history.” 

“B-b-bul-” began Steven, and nipped 

off his expression just in time. 

“Double bully,” finished Greataunt Sarah. 
“Why not be natural?” 

“I will,” stated Steven thankfully. “I 
wasn’t to use slang. The girls have been prim¬ 
ing me all the way down-” 


THE FLORENTINE CHEST 183 

“Now, now, now, don’t hide behind us,” pro¬ 
tested Nancy. 

Their aunt went on: “They called it the 
Chest of the Lost. According to Giovanni’s 
story, this chest of the Medicis possesses one 
peculiar property, that of causing things to 
vanish, to disappear as if swallowed up within 
its solid sides. A daughter of one of the 
Dukes de Medici first owned the chest. It was 
full of her scented, satin things, I fancy. Un¬ 
doubtedly she sat upon it, curled up, doing her 
embroideries or dreaming over the Arno. One 
night she disappeared completely from her 
perch on the chest. No trace of her was ever 
discovered. After that, according to Gio¬ 
vanni’s story, a long list of people and objects 
laid upon the chest completely vanished.” 

“Bah!” scoffed Steven. “Thrilling—but 
not believable!” 

Greataunt Sarah shook her head. “Listen,” 
she urged. “I brought home with me a won¬ 
derful, cobwebby, lace mantilla that I pur¬ 
chased in Madrid. It was as sheer as spun 
moonbeams, as gossamer as if woven from cob¬ 
web cables. It was so fine and sheer that I 
could conceal it in the thumb of my glove. 
Anything so delicately fashioned enters into 
the realm of the fairies. 


184 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


“Last week I sat up late in this room read¬ 
ing. I sat on the great chest till long past 
midnight. The Venetian windows, and door 
to the veranda there, stood open. I had this 
Spanish mantilla thrown over my shoulders. 
It is woven of silk and gleaming silver, so that 
it shines like spiders’ webs on the grass. The 
wind blew that delicate film of silk from my 
shoulders onto the old chest. I recall it now, 
but I didn’t at the time. I was too engrossed 
in my story. Jenkins summoned me to see the 
sick housekeeper. So I went out, leaving my 
scarf on the carved chest. 

“When I came back it was gone, like a wisp 
of fog-damp. That isn’t all! Plainly, as I 
slipped through this darkened room, with the 
moonlight slanting across the chest, I heard 
a series of faint knocks coming from the very 
heart of the ancient box.” 

“What did you do?” demanded Steven. 

“Went to the table there, switched on the 
lights, listened intently. And as I stood there, 
the sound was repeated plainly, like muffled, 
fearful fingers, tapping to me in some spook 
tongue.” 

“Do you know the Morse code, Aunt 
Sarah?” asked Steven eagerly. 

“I do not. That’s where you may help me 


THE FLORENTINE CHEST 


185 


out. I remember when you were a little lad 
that you had a little amateur telegraph out¬ 
fit.” 

“Which you gave me,” reminded Steven 
proudly. 

“What did you do next, Aunt Sarah?” 
interposed Blunder-Beth with a distressed 
look in Steven’s direction. 

“I went over and flung up the lid of the 
chest. But it was just as empty as it is now, 
with not so much as a hair inside.” 

“Did the tapping stop then?” queried 
Nancy. 

“Yes, it did.” 

Steven strode across the heavy pile of the 
rug. He took hold of the carved cover. He 
eased the heavy top up. It squeaked and pro¬ 
tested dolefully in a lugubrious minor key. 

“Gracious!” Blunder-Beth covered her 
ears. “It’s enough to shiver my spine!” 

“It’s enough to shiver its timbers,” coun¬ 
tered Steven. 

“Well, it stopped the ghostly tappings in 
the chest, as I’ve told you.” 

“N. B.” laughed Nancy. “A new panacea 
for ghosts! An honest-to-goodness spook 
slayer, banshee banisher! A few bars in a 
minor key, muted to a melancholy wail!” 


186 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


“All a body’d need,” raced on Beth, falling 
into Nancy’s mood, “would be a violin. Any 
haunted place could merely be fiddled into 
silence.” 

“As if a ghost had a keynote and could be 
razed, like the walls of Jerico,” finished Great- 
aunt Sarah. “It’s a pretty thought—in 
theory.” 

“But what about the tapping chest and the 
vanished veil?” prompted Steven. 

“Well, that happened a week ago,” she 
answered. “The veil’s still among the mys¬ 
teriously vanished. And I confess I haven’t 
ventured in here after dark since. I don’t 
relish what I can’t understand. Sometimes 
this empty house does heighten my fancies.” 

“Goody!” exclaimed Blunder-Beth, glanc¬ 
ing at the tall colonial clock in the comer. 
“The witching hour is supposed to fall be¬ 
tween twelve and two. It’s now ten-thirty. 
Let’s wait here until it’s just time for the big 
clock to strike twelve and then switch out the 
lights. May we, O may we, Aunt Sarah?” 

Their aunt glanced toward the curtains 
covering the full-length windows opening 
upon the wide veranda. The night wind sifted 
through with gently swaying fingers. The 


THE FLORENTINE CHEST 


1S7 


moon edged up over an evergreen until it ap¬ 
peared like the clean half of a golden seal. 

“Yes,” she agreed. “Meantime,” she 
reached for the drawer in the big table, “I’ve 
some perfectly fresh marshmallows. We’ll 
squat on the hearth here, before the fire, and 
toast them. There’s nothing like a bright fire 
on the hearth and toasted marshmallows to lay 
puzzling riddles—temporarily.” 

Sometime later the faint whirr of prepara¬ 
tory wheels issued from the tall colonial clock. 
Promptly Steven reached for the switch. The 
room lay shrouded in velvet blackness. Paint, 
frosted bars of moonlight sifted through the 
open window. 

The four waited in eager, excited anticipa¬ 
tion—for the first suspicious sound. 



PART II 

The Wraith 

6 6 Kerchoo! Kerchoo! ’’ 

Despite her heroic efforts Blunder-Beth 
failed to stifle the sneeze. 

Nancy seized her and pressed her face 
against her shoulder. One more muffled 
Kerchoo followed faintly. 

Greataunt Sarah chuckled in the darkness. 
Steven all but snickered. 

The minutes ticked away—half an hour, an 
hour, an hour and a half. Still the four waited 
tensely. Even Beth was unusually still—for 
her. 

Nancy glanced swiftly in their aunt’s direc¬ 
tion. Greataunt Sarah dozed lightly with her 
head drooped forward on her chest. 

Just then a faint sound seemed to creep 
forth from the shadowy embrasure between 
the long windows. The three sat up rigidly. 
Greataunt Sarah dozed on unmindfully. 

The sound came again, not so faintly this 
time. It was like some hesitating tap on yield¬ 
ing wood. 

Tap, tap, tap-tap-tap emerged from the 
long, dark chest. 


188 


THE WRAITH 


189 


Steven strained forward. A frown puckered 
his brows together until they met in a black 
smudge over his nose. 

“My gracious!” he whispered under his 
breath. “My gracious!” 

Blunder-Beth’s eyes appeared as big as 
agates. Nancy’s face was stamped with tim¬ 
idity—disbelief. Then: 

Tap, tap, tappity-tap resounded the hollow 
knockings straight from the carven chest. 

Steven reached over. His prodding finger 
found the switch under the table. Light leaped 
through the darkness of the room. 

The boy sprang towards the chest. He flung 
back the lid. It creaked and croaked moan- 
fully under his urging, eager fingers. 

Greataunt Sarah opened her eyes, straight¬ 
ened up, stared about her. Comprehension 
flooded her features. She, too, arose to her 
feet, along with Nancy and Beth. 

With a half glance at the empty chest, 
Steven next plunged through the open Vene¬ 
tian window onto the veranda. His fingers 
pressed the electric switch there, bathing the 
piazza with brilliance. With the coming of 
the frosty autumn days and the departing of 
winged mid-summer pests, Miss Stanton had 
ordered the screens removed from all the en- 


190 BLUNDER'S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


trances of Ravenswood. She declared that 
wire-mesh cut down the tang of the autumn 
breezes. So no wire-strung barrier impeded 
Steven’s headlong progress. 

Blunder-Beth nosed after him hurriedly. 
Steven was poking about among the wicker 
furniture, around the piazza boxes, the great 
jardinieres. Then he leaped over the rail and 
searched the hydrangea bushes, the snow-ball 
bushes. 

Suddenly he straightened up. He held some¬ 
thing between his thumb and forefinger, 
something that winked and blinked. It glinted 
like some molten drop of gold shaken off by a 
runaway comet’s tail. 

“Whatever is it?” breathed Blunder-Beth 
exultantly. 

“It’s a clew, my dear Watson,” laughed 
Steven sotto voce . “A real spook spark by 
wireless.” 

“In the spectre code?” queried Beth. 

“That I can’t explain yet,” he returned, 
coming back hurriedly. 

Greataunt Sarah and Nancy leaned out the 
door. 

“Whatever have you discovered, Steven?” 
demanded Greataunt Sarah. 

He held his big brown palm up for them to 



THE SOUND CAME LIGHTLY FROM THE CHEST 




192 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

see. On it something lay like a wet drop of 
moonlight—of a marvellous reddish gold. 

“It’s an old coin!” exclaimed Nancy. “A 
tarnished goldpiece, worn as thin as a wafer. 
And it’s such a deep, dusky red gold-” 

“As if it had been dipped in blood,” supple¬ 
mented Blunder-Beth sepulchrally. 

“It’s as big as a ‘cartwheel’,” pointed out 
Steven. 

Greataunt Sarah picked up the lozenge of 
precious metal. She carried it to the drop- 
light and studied it through her glasses. 

“It’s so worn, thin and dim that most of the 
characters have been burnished off with the 
passing of time. But see,” she discovered, 

“Bex - Per din - The rest is buffed off, 

purposely or by chance, accident or what-not. 
Children, it’s Spanish gold—an old doubloon!” 

“A Spanish doubloon!” exalted Blunder- 
Beth. “That’s pirate gold, buccaneer booty, 
sea-wasp treasure, pieces-of-eight, and all the 
rest-” 

“The sign of the skull and cross-bones,” 
added Steven. “My eye! Pinch me to tell 
me if I’m awake! ’ ’ 

“However did it come here?” demanded 
Blunder-Beth, wide-eyed. 



THE WRAITH 


193 


“Are there any other curio-collectors in the 
neighborhood?” queried Nancy eagerly. 

“No.” (ireataunt Sarah shook her head. 
“All the folk hereabouts have clung like 
leeches to the acres of their forefathers. They 
look with disfavor on foreign travel and 
curious relics of heathen lands. It’s all in the 
view-point, you know,” she ended tolerantly. 

“Have there been any stray peddlers going 
from door to door lately?” questioned Steven, 
still staring in wide and joyous disbelief at 
the gleaming doubloon. 

“No. I’ve given orders for the gates to be 
kept barred—since my veil disappeared so 
mysteriously. They have been flung wide only 
for those whom I know. As you recall, the 
switch is in the hall. Jenkins alone operates 
it. No, no foreign peddler has been in the 
grounds.” 

“When did Peter, the gardener, last shear 
the grass around these piazza bushes?” 

“Let me see,” the little old lady considered. 
“Why, it was the day before I first heard the 
knoekings in the chest—the day before my veil 
disappeared. The grass doesn’t grow so 
rapidly now autumn approaches in seven- 
leagued boots. Yes, it was just the day before. 
And Peter is as honest as Diogenes. If he 


194 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


found as much as a penny, he’d bring it to me 
instantly. I know that boy as I know my 
right hand.” 

“That proves,” summarized Steven, “that 
this Spanish doubloon was not dropped before 
the mysterious happenings here. It must have 
been left, or lost, either when the veil disap¬ 
peared —or afterwards.” 

“Are you quite sure,” interrogated Nancy 
gently, “are you certain, Aunt Sarah, that you 
never have collected a Spanish doubloon in 
your travels, perhaps a long time ago, and then 
put it away and straightway forgotten about 
it?” 

“Never,” declared their aunt emphatically. 
“I’ve never been so fortunate. Time and 
again I’ve been on the trail of some old gold 
piece with a fascinating history, only to be 
disappointed. No, positively it’s not mine.” 

“Has anyone visited you, been out on the 
piazza with you within the week?” 

Miss Stanton considered carefully. 
“There’s been only the electrician, and a few 
friends, none of whom could possibly have any 
excuse for carrying a Spanish doubloon 
around carelessly.” 

“Perhaps,” suggested Nancy, “one of the 


THE WRAITH 


195 


ladies may have worn the gold piece as a laval- 
liere-” 

“I’d have noted it instantly,” countered 
their aunt. “Besides, look, there’s no hole in 
it, so it couldn’t have been strung around any¬ 
one’s throat.” 

“Some one might have worn it secretly, or 
carried it as a luck-charm. He or she might 
have had a hole in the pocket and dropped 
it out.” 

“But look where I found it!” reminded 
Steven. “In the middle of that clump of 
snow-ball bushes. And I only noticed it be¬ 
cause it glistened in the moonlight. No one 
would be walking on the top terrace under the 
veranda rail. And it couldn’t have been lost 
off the veranda into it, because it spreads out 
too fax-” 

“I dislike to mention it,” acknowledged 
Clreataunt Sarah. “But the only way it could 
get there would be by some one lurking or 
eavesdropping on the terrace. It co mma ri ds a 
perfect view of the library here.” 

“But,” spoke up Blunder-Beth, “no one 
you entertain would be guilty of such a thing! 
You can account for anyone who has been here 
within the week, because you have kept the 
gates locked.” 



196 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

“There’re still the servants,” recalled 
Steven slowly. 

“They’re all as good as that gold there,” de¬ 
fended Greataunt Sarah loyally. “Each and 
every one of them has been with me for years. 
I’ve put them on their honor, and like most 
people, they respond to trust. There isn’t 
one of them who would be guilty of eaves¬ 
dropping. I know. I’m certain.” 

Blunder-Beth smiled at her suddenly. She 
reached out and squeezed her hand. 

“You’re great, Aunt Sarah. Simply darl¬ 
ing. Why, if I were one of your servants, I’d 
take off a finger before I’d disappoint you in 
anything.” 

Greataunt Sarah laughed into the earnest, 
eager face. She reached out and patted the 
soft, brown bob. 

“Thank you, Elizabeth,” she murmured. 

Beth flushed with pleasure. Greataunt 
Sarah never addressed her as Elizabeth except 
when she was greatly pleased. It was like an 
unvoiced compliment from her — half-spoken 
praise. 

“Well, that throws into the discard any 
sensible explanation of the doubloon’s pres¬ 
ence,” frowned Steven. “It’ll have to remain 
X in this riddle—for a time longer. You keep 


THE WRAITH 


197 


it, Aunt Sarah, until we know where we’re 
to find the solution.” 

“Now, you must all go to bed,” declared 
their aunt briskly. “It’s shamefully late— 
or early.” 

“Well, it’s the early bird that gets the gold, ’ ’ 
paraphrased Blunder-Beth glibly. 

“But it musn’t turn to fool’s gold! Shoo, 
all of you. Don’t dare do any talking in the 
dark. Go to sleep at once, and don’t come 
down until you’re called. I’ll instruct Jen¬ 
kins. Good-night—and sweet dreams.” 

“The same to you and golden ones,” they 
answered. 

The shadows deepened over the great house. 
Finally its gnarled and weatherbeaten timbers 
lay wrapped in sleep, in silence, and in secret 
things. 

They breakfasted at nine-thirty. But the 
Terrible Three experienced a guilty sense of 
extreme laziness. Early to bed and early to 
rise had* been Grandmother Stanton’s motto 
ever since they could toddle. 

After breakfast they went onto the veranda. 
It was a wonderful morning, gleaming crisply 
under the autumn sun. Bavenswood lay be¬ 
hind a golden film where the sun filtered 


198 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

through. The maples and the oaks sang in 
all the gorgeous tints of the spectrum. 

They had hardly been on the veranda ten 
minutes before the dark and melancholy-look¬ 
ing Jenkins appeared in the library door. His 
manner was a shade less wooden than usual. 

44 Miss Stanton,” he said in his precise, 
metallic way, 4 ‘might I be so bold as to have 
a word with you?” 

He stood waiting stiffly at attention. 

Their aunt tripped in. The two withdrew 
to the farthest corner of the library, leaving 
the guests chattering like hungry magpies out¬ 
side. 

“Marm,” began Jenkins in a fearful 
whisper, “there are queer goings-on here. 
Things you should know.” 

“What do you mean? Speak out, Jenkins.” 

The man fidgeted from one polished boot to 
the other. He brushed some invisible dust 
from the satiny sheen of his left arm. He 
threw back his shoulders as if straightening 
himself for some ordeal. Twice he cleared his 
throat as if his emotion had furred it too 
thickly for speech. 

“I—I-” he began, “I’ve lost something. 

I’d sooner part with my skin than give it 
up. I’m that nervous and upset about it that 


THE WRAITH 


199 


I haven’t shut my eyes for these six nights. 
And I’ve looked everywhere before troubling 
you, marm, about it. Even now I’m ashamed 
to tell you—sorry to interrupt you with the 
young folk.” 

. “No, no. You mustn’t feel that way. I’m 
only too glad to hear and to help you, if I can . 
What is it?” 

A half suspicion was forming in her mind 
concerning Jenkins’ distress. 

“You s-see, marm,” he stuttered, both agi¬ 
tated and embarrassed, “I suspect you’ll think 
I’m silly, but I hold to certain notions about 
things—signs, omens and the like. I’d rather 
break a leg than break a mirror. A leg will 
heal in a couple of months, but nothing can 
banish seven years of bad luck or a death. 
I’m trying to tell you, marm, that I’m super¬ 
stitious. Of course I suspect it’s foolish, but 
it was the way I was raised by my grand-dame. 
And I set a heap by her memory.” His eyes 
grew suddenly misty. 

Miss Stanton reached out and touched his 
sleeve gently. “I know. I understand. You 
don’t need to apologize about how you feel.” 

“Well, her grandfather,” he went on less 
diffidently, “was a sea-faring man. Some¬ 
where, somehow he picked up a luck-piece. 


200 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


And it was handed down to her, my grand- 
dame. She gave it to me when I was a little 
shaver, during her last illness. She told me 
it would bring me good luck always, and for 
me never to part with it. It has brought me 
good luck, serving such as you, marm, as I 
have for a spell of going on to ten years-” 

“What was this luck-piece?” 

“A Spanish gold-piece, marm, worn as thin 
as paper, what they call pirate’s gold and the 
like.” 

Miss Stanton began to sense many things. 

“And you’ve lost yours?” she urged him. 

“Yes, marm. I lost it just a week ago, 
marm. I’d had it out late that night, looking 
it over close-like. And I’d left it on my wash- 
stand. Well, I’d a bit of headache in the 
night. So I went down the corridor of the 
third hall and out on the rear balcony for a 
whiff of night air. When I went back the 
goldpiece was gone. I searched everywhere 
in my clothes. But ’twas gone. I’ve peeked 
about quietly since. No use though.” 

Like a flash the location of Jenkins’ room 
came to Miss Stanton’s mind. It was at the 
rear of the servants’ rooms on the third hall. 
There was no possible way to drop it from 
Jenkins’ window into the heart of the snow- 



THE WRAITH 


201 


ball bush. The foliage outside the library 
veranda was on the south side of the house, 
the extreme south-west corner. 

Miss Stanton went to a locked cabinet in 
the corner. She produced a key and turned 
the lock. She brought out the tiny wafer of 
gold and held it towards the perturbed Jen¬ 
kins. 

“Is this your lost luck-piece?” 

A great glow of pleasure overspread Jen¬ 
kins’ sober face. Pie stooped forward eagerly. 

“Yes, marm. Yes, indeed. It’s mine.” 

Quite simply she told him where Steven had 
discovered the gold doubloon. 

“Its presence there is as much of a riddle 
to us as it is to you,” she finished. 

Jenkins had been studying his recovered 
goldpiece eagerly. 

“There are faint scratches on it that weren’t 
on it before,” he stated. “Not on the night 
I last saw it.” He pointed them out to her. 

“Now, that’s a real clew,” she recognized. 
“I mustn’t lose sight of these scratches.” 

Jenkins bowed and withdrew. 

That night Blunder-Beth was aroused by a 
slight sound in the bushes outside her window. 
The last sickle of the waning moon fell faintly 


202 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

on the great snow-ball blossoms in the bushes. 
As she looked, something like a wisp of fog- 
damp seemed to float slowly above the bush 
into the faint film of moonlight. 

Slowly, surely, it traveled upward, seeming 
to spread into a wide, fanlike shape of palest 
sheen. It was like a stray wisp of cloud 
dropped from the very heavens above the 
bushes. Gradually the ghostly shape arose, 
mounted higher, until it disappeared in the 
heavy shadows of the tall pine. 

“The wraith of Ravenswood,” whispered 
Blunder-Beth to herself, tumbling into a 
heavy bathrobe and slippers. Her mind had 
been made up in a twinkling. 

She raced across the heavy rug, opened the 
door and dashed along the corridor in the 
dark, and down the winding staircase. It took 
but the space of seconds to enter the library, 
unbar the door and step out upon the veranda. 

Beth gazed upward, but the odd phantom 
had completely disappeared. 

She dipped back into the library, pulled 
open a drawer in the table, and took Great- 
aunt Sarah’s pocket-flash. She trooped down 
the veranda steps into the shade of the trees. 
She ran straight as a dart towards the 
shadows, playing her torch about eagerly. She 


THE WRAITH 


203 


felt no sensation of fear. The grounds were 
as securely guarded as if surrounded by a 
moat and aimed retainers. Besides, the riddle 
must admit of some simple, laughable explana¬ 
tion! 

The girl raised her torch directly towards 
the tall evergreens where the floating white 
phantom had seemed to vanish. 

Then she uttered a little, delighted Ah. The 
light quivered under her excited fingers. 

There, snagged on a broken half-branch 
dangled a long, limp wisp of white. It was as 
thin and transparent as some spray of sea- 
foam. But there it was—Greataunt Sarah’s 
lost Spanish mantilla, snared to a rotten 
branch on the tree! 

Blunder-Beth raced back to the house. The 
great colonial clock stood at eleven only, for 
they had retired early. She went directly to 
Greataunt Sarah’s room and aroused her. 
They in turn routed out Steven and Nancy. 
“Bor,” declared Beth, “it isn’t fair to answer 
the riddle without telling them at once.” 

Steven went to the gardener’s lodge for a 
ladder. He climbed up the old pine and care¬ 
fully extricated the snagged mantilla. 

Suddenly, above him, the evergreen began 
to sway, although there wasn’t a breath of 


204 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


wind stirring. Something black swooped past 
him, over the heads of the three. 

“ There goes Jocko, my biggest raven!” ex¬ 
claimed Greataunt Sarah. “He must have 
made a secret roost in the top of that tree.” 

“There’s the answer to your riddle,” de¬ 
clared Steven. ‘ i That explains everything but 
the knocking chest. Jocko is your prime pet. 
He’s always pecking curiously about the 
house. He possesses all the thieving charac¬ 
teristics of the magpie. He probably saw your 
bright light in the library. There was no 
screen in the door. So he sailed in, glimpsed 
the glittering veil on the chest, grabbed it in 
his beak and swooped away with it, hiding it 
with his bird-wisdom where it then suited him 
to do so. To-night he returned to his prize, 
waiting to carry it to his cranny in the tree- 
top. That was what Beth saw when she beheld 
the veil ascending like a wisp of fog-damp into 
the shadows of the tree here. Jocko proved a 
poor pilot. He snagged the length of filmy 
tissue onto this rotten limb. So there’s the 
answer to your vanished veil. The lost chest 
played no part in it - ” 

“But what about the spectral knocks we 
heard in the chest?” prompted Nancy. 
“There’s still that riddle to solve.” 


THE WRAITH 


205 


“Let’s go in and have another look at it,” 
urged Steven. 

“Now the significance of the scratches on 
the doubloon becomes easy of comprehension,” 
reminded Greataunt Sarah. 

“The marks of Jocko’s bill, to be sure,” 
laughed Blunder-Beth. “He probably took 
that too and dropped it. How simple now that 
we know!” 

They re-entered the library. 

“Aunt Sarah, may I connect a line from the 
floor socket to a high-power bulb, so I can 
carry it to the chest ? It’s a dark corner here, 
even under full daylight.” 

“Of course.” 

Shortly Steven played a 120-watt bulb over 
the carven sides of the chest. 

“The front and the two ends, as well as the 
lid, are solidly carved pieces,” he announced. 
“But the back fell in shadows, so I didn’t 
study it so carefully. It’s a magnificent piece 
of joinery. Look!” 

He held the bulb close. 

“Its two halves of wood are wonderfully 
glued together, so that only the faintest hair¬ 
line shows at one end under this chipped-off 
leaf. If an expert cabinet-maker could steam 
the back apart, we might discover something.” 


206 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIQNS 

41 Peter will do it in the morning. His 
father was a Swedish cabinet-maker. The 
lodge is full of the implements of the father’s 
trade which the boy practices on the side. 
’Twill be an easy matter for him to take that 
back apart.” 

So in the morning Peter’s skilled fingers 
laid open the wonderful joining of that heavy 
carven back. Inside they found the wood rot¬ 
ten and honeycombed with tiny holes until it 
looked like two long sections of sponges. But 
that wasn’t all! 

Peter pointed out a boring object to them. 

“There’s the secret of your knocking chest,” 
he told Miss Stanton. “Did you ever hear 
of the death-beetle? No? Well, the death- 
beetle inhabits certain bits of rotten wood. 
His boring progress is marked by faint, hollow 
tappings, like some tiny woodpecker in beetle 
form. They call him the death-beetle from an 
old superstition that whenever his faint tap¬ 
pings are heard, some member in the house¬ 
hold is doomed. Just superstition, marm, you 
know,” he ended apologetically. 

“A death-beetle!” exclaimed Blunder-Beth. 
“Well, that’s new to me!” 

“To me, too,” echoed their aunt quickly. 
“Thanks to Peter’s clever operation.” 



PETER HELD UP SATINY SPHERES OF WHITE 






208 BLUNDER'S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


“B-but-” protested Beth disappointed¬ 

ly. “The Italian boy said that the chest was 
a treasure, more than its outsides seemed to 
show-” 

Peter looked up from his careful poking 
among the spongy holes and the sawdust. 

“The Italian boy was right,” he stated, his 
voice a husky whisper. “See, what was hid¬ 
den away between the two glued halves of the 
carven back. Look! Some one, some early 
Italian, bored holes into the surface of both 
halves before they were glued back again. Into 
these holes were hidden these-” 

On his palm Peter held up satiny spheres 
of white. 

“Pearls!” exclaimed Greataunt Sarah. 
“Magnificent pearls.” 

She examined them critically. 

“Enough for a string to go around a lady’s 
neck,” added Peter. 

“How very odd!” recognized Greataunt 
Sarah. “I looked into the history of that 
vanished daughter of the Medicis. Tradition 
avers that she owned one of the finest strings 
of matched pearls in Europe at the time. The 
pearls disappeared when she did. I had all 
but forgotten this fact.” 

“How very fascinating!” added Nancy. 



THE WRAITH OF RAVENSWOOD 209 

“It’s easy now to piece out in imagination the 
true explanation of the girl’s disappearance. 
Some one wanted the pearls. Something ter¬ 
rible may have happened. Then, the pearls 
were temporarily secreted in the back of the 
old Florentine chest. Some one pried apart 
or steamed open the two halves, bored the 
holes, hid the pearls and then glued the back 
together again.” 

“Well, the Dukes de Medici were consum¬ 
mate rogues, skilled in many crafts,” recalled 
Greataunt Sarah. “It was a feat not beneath 
them, and better than they usually practiced. 
For they were both a credit and a great blot 
on the early history of Italy.” 

“Thus endeth the Riddle of Ravenswood,” 
completed Steven with a flourish. “The little 
cripple spoke truly. I wonder if he really 
knew anything of its true secret! Or if he 
meant something else?” 

“That time alone will tell us,” laughed 
their aunt. “I shall return these pearls to the 
museum at Florence, along with the tale of 
how we discovered them. It will make a 
fascinating story for some antiquarian to un¬ 
ravel.” 


THE ENIGMA OF EEL GRASS RAY 


“Then,” finished Sally Comfort, “I was 
that scuttled full o’ shivers, that I locked up 
the house tighter’n a clam-shell, and scurried 
out like a scared ’possum. ’Tain’t nateral, 
Mis’ Stanton —moaning eel-grass! And the 
water’s that deep and full o’ black muck there¬ 
abouts that anything’d sink quicker’n takes 
to sniff at the notion.” 

Blunder-Beth stared at their visitor with 
round, fascinated eyes. She had walked the 
eight mile stretch between her little cottage 
on Eel Grass Bay and their summer house on 
the turnpike. 

“Steven,” went on Sally Comfort, nodding 
to the boy, “won’t you please shut that ’ere 
door there? Every draught starts the roots of 
my hair to sprouting. I’m that quivering 
queasy.” 

Steven closed the door. 

“Let me give you a cup of hot coffee,” sug¬ 
gested Nancy sympathetically. “It will chase 
away some of the shivers for you. You won’t 
have to pass another such restless, scary night 
there.” 


210 


THE ENIGMA OF EEL GRASS BAY 211 


“Sakes a mercy, I hope not,” wheezed Sally 
Comfort. “I’m ’bout petered out to a shoe¬ 
string. ’Twas mighty kind of you, Mis’ Stan¬ 
ton, a-lending me that ’ere house of yourn for 
my little rest. But I guess I’d rather come 
back and go to work. Housework ain’t much 
shucks, but at least it don’t start a body’s wis¬ 
dom teeth a-clattering-” 

Grandmother Stanton held up a protesting 
hand. 

“Now, now, Sally,” she demurred, “don’t 
give up so easily. You’ve hardly been down 
there two days. The vacation will do you good. 
Steven, Nancy and Beth will go back with you. 
They’re a terrible trio, you know, for solving 
the weird, the strange, and the mysterious.” 

“My eye!” exclaimed Steven. “Moaning 
eel grass! Sounds like burning ice and all the 
other impossibles.” 

“Sounds like a rip-snorting mystery,” de¬ 
clared Blunder-Beth gleefully. 

“Or phantom groans,” supplemented Nancy. 

“Steven,” suggested Grandmother Stanton, 
“suppose you whisk out your Pilot car. I 
know there’s an old dory tied to the pier there. 
The last cottager brought it from the shed and 
left it moored in the water to keep it fit. I 
want to learn what lies behind this mystery 


212 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


while the sun’s high. The eel grass in the bay 
is notably dangerous, heavy and thick-” 

“And said to run to eels big as boa con¬ 
strictors,” cut in Blunder-Beth with a delight¬ 
ed shiver. 

“And to be impenetrable,” recalled Nancy. 
“If a person gets lost in there, he is likely to 
flounder into all manner of trouble—regular 
everglades, quagmires and the like.” 

“I fancy,” their grandmother told them, 
“that it’s a case of ‘give a dog a bad name.’ 
To be sure, the bay is covered with a five mile 
stretch of impenetrable, high-growing grass. 
It has always been shunned, much as one 
would avoid swamps and quicksands. So it 
has gathered an unsavory reputation here¬ 
abouts. The black muck must be very thick 
and rich for such a luxuriant growth to cover 
the bay there. You must be very careful. That 
old dory is a regular tub for safety—impos¬ 
sible to upset. Take along an extra pair of 
oars and a couple of long poles. You must 
work out some scheme for finding your way 
back. It will do you good to ferret out this 
mystery for yourselves. I have every faith 
that you’ll use common sense and resourceful¬ 
ness. Now—travel along.” 


THE ENIGMA OF EEL GRASS BAY 213 

Eel Grass Bay uncoiled its thousands of 
burnished grass, blades against the summer 
sky. The bay appeared more like a restless 
cornfield than a shallop of the sea. Squatting 
on a sandy indentation stood a rough shack. 
Yet there was an air of tidiness about the 
place. 

As the car took the swooping sandy road at 
a merry pace, a tall, angular man peered at 
its occupants from the rear of the shack. He 
ducked from sight like a prairie dog. A brist¬ 
ling, yellow cur raced out. He reared himself 
on stiff legs like a saw-horse and shattered 
the silence with his yaps as the car dipped 
into the next hollow of the road. 

“There’s that ’ere hermit again,” offered 
Sally Comfort. “I’ve done nothing but shunt 
away from the gossip hereabouts. But the 
tales they do tell! Sakes a mercy! His name 
is Owen Knight. And they do ’low that for 
all its down-at-the-heels out’ards, the in’ards 
of his shack is real scrumptious—iligint-like. 
For a lone hermit, he has loads of money, they 
do tell-” 

Gently Nancy interposed, “Perhaps Eel 
Grass Bay lends itself to idle rumor. But it 
looks commonplace enough by day.” 

“But by night — ugh!” shivered Sally. 


214 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

“Looks be downright deceptions, I’m a-tellin’ 
you.” 

“It is odd that the moans don’t come in the 
daytime,” agreed Nancy. 

“Sure sign it’s a ghost!” Blunder-Beth 
wagged her head like some weather-beaten old 
wiseacre. “Who ever heard of ghosts moan¬ 
ing in broad daylight! They feed on dark¬ 
ness.” 

“It’s going to be some proposition to row 

about in a scow,” debated Steven_ “Funny 

how that bay’s shunned. It’s a regular second 
Sargasso, a kind of graveyard of black muck, 
big eels and a bad reputation.” 

Nancy added, “Well, nobody’d be keen for 
exploring around in such a place on a pleasure 
jaunt.” 

“But ’twould be a fine hiding-place if any¬ 
body were looking for one,” deposed Blunder- 
Beth hopefully. “Maybe it’s full of-” 

“Madcap ideas,” put in Steven, “such as 
you unreel by the yard, Beth. Heigho! There’s 
the cottage, snug as you please. And here we 
are with a quota of good hours till dusk to lay 
Sally Comfort’s groaning ghost.” 

The maid turned to him. “Ain’t no ghosts 
by daylight, I tell you,” she reaffirmed. “No 
groans neither. You’ll have your work for 


THE ENIGMA OF EEL GRASS BAY 215 


your pains. Whatever’s a-going on in that 
’ere eel grass only happens o’ nights.” 

“Then we’ll plan to spend the night out,” 
decided Steven. 

“You can count me out,” declared Sally. 
“My old body’s had ague enough without 
nosin’ about in that ’ere bay.” 

Steven slowed down beside the little cottage. 

“Now, we have just two electric torches. 
How many lanterns can you find for us?” 

“Two. Kerosene lanterns, protected ’gainst 
draughts. Got reflectors, too, all polished like 
nuggets for backin’ up the lights. One of them 
lanterns’ worth ten of your new-fandangled 
torchlights. They’re always going bad, like a 
spoiled child, just when you want ’em to be¬ 
have their purtiest.” 

“It’ll be no end of a lark,” anticipated 
Steven. “Tonight there’s still the full moon. 
That will help us.” 

“W-wh-what about a g-gun?” stammered 
Blunder-Beth, her tongue as unruly as ever 
when driven by sudden excitement. “S-su- 
sup-suppose there’s smugglers there or we 
s-s-stumble upon some t-t-treasure!” 

“Beth is romancing,” laughed Nancy. “She 
has been reading the life of Captain Kidd 
lately.” 


216 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


“Not Captain Kidd,” admitted Beth. 
“Robin Hood. But nothing ever happens like 
that nowadays-” 

“ ‘Oh, my name was Captain Kidd, when 
I sailed, when I sailed, 

Oh, my name was Captain Kidd when I 
sailed- 7 ” 

chanted Steven, ending up with a sepulchral, 

“ ‘Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest, 
With a yo-ho, yo-ho-’ ” 

“Oh, Master Steven,” interposed Sally 
Comfort, grasping the car’s tonneau door. 
“Where under the light o’ day do you pick up 
such heathen jargon! Enough to make a body 
turn green—dead men, chests, and such like.” 

“You mustn’t mind Steven, you know,” 
soothed Nancy. “His teasing is worse than 
his words. Just at present, I suspect that 
Beth isn’t the only one who’s been reading 
pirate stories.” 

“Here we are,” invited Steven blithely, 
skipping the subject. “All aboard for Eel 
Grass Bay. ‘Under the grass in the murky 
waters, where they’ve kept me for years’,” he 
laughed tantalizingly at Sally Comfort. 

“Oh, you wicked boy,” smiled Sally rue¬ 
fully. “If you weren’t a good four inches 
taller than me, I’d spank you, just as I did 




THE ENIGMA OF EEL GRASS BAY 217 


when you were a troublesome tad in torn 
trousers. ” 

Steven clicked his heels together and made 
a polite bow. 

“Alight, oh generous lady,” he said with 
mock civility. “ Shall I spread my Norfolk 
for you to tread upon?” 

‘ 4 Don’t be ridiculous, Steven,” admonished 
Nancy, with a twinkle in her eye—for he was 
humorous. 

Sally Comfort led the way to the rear door. 

Ruefully Beth and Steven glanced back¬ 
ward. The sun poured down a vertical glare. 
Eel Grass Bay danced under glimmering 
grass-blades until it thrust into the bronze- 
green corselet of the sea. Nancy and Sally 
Comfort waved them a good-bye from the 
doorway. Sally had insisted upon Nancy’s 
staying with her. So Beth and Steven clam¬ 
bered into the flat, old dory. They were 
weighed down with the accessories for the 
adventure—enough to spend the night out if 
necessary. 

Steven had ground down to a razor edge 
the sickle from the shed. 

“Now, Beth,” he began briskly, “let’s make 


218 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

you all shipshape here in the prow. Well have 
to thread a snail’s pace.” 

“Looks like a wild goose chase, Steven. But 
I’m it if you say so. I’ll slice away at the 
grass as long as my elbow holds out. Then 
I’ll relieve you at the oars. Heigho! I don’t 
like this hunting a needle in the eel-grass— 
for that’s what it really amounts to. Why not 
wait till dark, Steven, and then be guided 
by the moans?” 

“We’ve thrashed that out already,” de¬ 
murred Steven. “As we’ve now decided, we’re 
just going to explore a little for any sign of 
recent disturbance of the grass — any 
clews-” 

He shoved off. Slowly the boat slithered 
down into the inky waters. With a long swish 
of her right arm Beth began to cut a swath 
for the dory through the tall grass. The scow 
crawled along—disappeared in the waving 
blades. 

“Not so close, Beth,” suggested Steven 
after a time. “This Old Ironsides will press 
it down with its weight and our own. You 
don’t have to cut the grass much below the 
height of the boat.” 

“Aye, aye, sir,” answered Blunder-Beth 
promptly, with another swooping gesture. 



THE ENIGMA OF EEL GRASS BAY 219 

“Ouch! The skin of my palm is blistered 
already!” 

“Tender-foot!” reproved Steven. “And 
we’ve only about started!” 

“ Wait a minute! I ’ll wind my handkerchief 
around my hand for a pad, and take to the 
oars for a spell. Suppose you turn mowing- 
machine, Steve.” 

They exchanged places. Standing upright 
in the old scow only their heads and shoulders 
showed above the giant growth of grass. 
Seated, they were completely concealed. 

“She certainly rides easy,” commented 
Steven. “Couldn’t rock this boat if we wanted 
to. It’s fool-proof.” 

“I—don’t— know,” smiled Blunder-Beth 
wryly. 

“All right, super-cargo. My, but this sickle 
lays the grass like a razor! You grabbed it 
too hard, Beth. Regular limousine-and- 
orehid job, if you take it right.” 

Steven directed the course by his compass 
and the sun. He was cutting a straight course 
seaward. Sally Comfort had insisted that the 
moans came from the middle of the bay. The 
information might have meant much or little. 
Sounds on the water are difficult to place cor¬ 
rectly. 


220 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


For an hour they edged along, with only the 
silken swish of Steven’s sickle, seconded by 
the low gulp of Beth’s dipping oars, to sever 
the stillness. 

44 Just a moment,” requested Steven. 

Somewhat surreptitiously he dug into his 
right trousers’ pocket. He brought out a be¬ 
grimed handkerchief and dabbed at his fore¬ 
head. But the handkerchief was not returned 
to the pocket. Awkwardly he tried to wad it 
into his right palm. 

44 Yaho, my hearty,” discovered Beth with a 
smile. 4 4 Why the bumper on the starboard 
palm? What-ho the upholstery? Art shedding 
thy skin already?” 

Steven grinned back sheepishly over his 
shoulder. 

44 Queen Elizabeth, there’s no compliment 
like imitation. I’ve a blister as big as a cart¬ 
wheel adorning the exact center of my palm. 
Hence the upholstery.” 

44 Too bad. We’re not tender-footed, but 
tender-handed.” 

44 Hello!” called out Steven, stopping sud¬ 
denly. 44 Look, Beth! Of all things!” 

44 Why, it’s another trail, blazed through the 
grass!” 


THE ENIGMA OF EEL GRASS BAY 221 

“It is. And an old one, too. See the stumps 
of the grass are brown and worn-” 

“But it’s been recently used, Steven. See 
how it’s kept chewed close to the water’s 
edge.” 

“Quick eye,” acceded Steven. “Let’s enter 
it in a hurry and see where it goes. I’ll take 
the oars, Beth.” 

“No indeed. You keep on a-sitting in the 
lookout nest. Mind that your spy-glasses are 
wiped clean.” 

“I’ll watch. Never fear.” 

Under the urge of this new excitement 
Blunder-Beth sent the dory forward at a 
plucky pace. The trail took a devious course, 
shuttling in and out at oblique angles. Now it 
doubled back on its trail; now it glanced off 
into a new, bewildering course. 

“A regular maze,” recognized Blunder- 
Beth. “Why all the plane geometry—a prob¬ 
lem in angles?” 

“Precaution,” declared Steven. “A trail 
shuttling through at so many acute angles 
would not only be invisible from the main, but 
even in the midst of the bay. It was only by 
lucky accident that our path struck this one.” 

“It’s dipping back towards the main again, ” 
murmured Beth, standing up. “We’re half 


222 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


way between Sally Comfort’s and the 
hermit’s.” 

“Land ahoy!” exclaimed Steven suddenly. 
“Look ahead, Beth.” 

“We’re coming into a cleared space, an 
oasis of water surrounded by grass.” 

“And look! There’s a raft in the middle of 
it, moored to the muck.” 

“Th-th-there’s s-something on the raft. It’s 
alive. It’s in that b-bunch of burlap and rags.” 

“It’s a dog,” recognized Steven in his 
biggest brother tone. “It might be the hermit’s 
dog—or a first cousin to him. But all curs look 
alike to me.” 

The yellow cur now caught a whiff of them, 
for the grass had previously flung their cau¬ 
tious whispers away. The little animal reared 
himself. He watched them suspiciously, with 
bristling, wire-stiff hair. But he was muzzled, 
tightly muzzled. 

“Now, that explains that/' commented 
Blunder-Beth. “There’s Sally’s moans walk¬ 
ing about on four feet—muzzled—or I’m a 
ghost myself.” 

“But the little beggar isn’t hungry. He’s 
so fat his back’s all marcelled in wrinkles. 
Some one’s left him a soft bed. Why the 
muzzle?” 

“Stupid!” exclaimed Beth with feigned 


THE ENIGMA OF EEL GRASS BAY 223 

superiority. “To keep him from barking, of 
course, thereby revealing his presence and 
drawing attention to Eel Grass Bay.” 

“Probably be tried to bark at the moon. It 
was full two nights ago,” recalled Steven. “So 
the best the little rascal could give out was 
moans. If we’re not mistaken Sally Comfort’s 
ghost is a four-footed one.” 

They now drew up alongside of the raft. 
It was crudely made. Except for the pile 
of burlap and the muzzled cur there was little 
to be seen at first glance. 

The incorrigible Blunder-Beth stepped 
aboard the swaying raft. 

“Funny!” Steven heard her say. She was 
stooping about, picking up something. 

“Treasure?” he demanded eagerly. 

“Clews,” she answer laconically. 

She held out a brown palm. Three bits of 
red gleamed ruddily there. 

“Flannel, red flannel! What on earth has 
this secretly moored craft, guarded by a 
muzzled cur, got to do with pieces of red flan¬ 
nel-” 

“Carefully cut, too, you’ll notice,” pointed 
out Blunder-Beth. 

She stowed them away in her blouse pocket. 
They searched about further. But there 
wasn’t another thing to be discovered. 


224 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


‘ ‘ Why, ” wailed Beth disappointedly, 
“ should anyone blaze such a crazy approach 
through the grass, Iwith every attempt for 
concealment to hide— this?” she ended scorn¬ 
fully. 

“It’s more of a riddle than it appears on the 
surface. Somebody’s playing safe—for some 
hidden purpose.” 

“Plain silly, I should say, with a muzzled 
dog on guard. Why not a dehorned bull or a 
fangless rattler! ’ ’ 

“Let’s get back to a spot well inland, where 
we can secretly watch what will go on after 
dark. We’ll drive the dory in at an angle off 
this fellow’s trail. We’ll see who goes there— 
and why.” 

They found an excellent hiding-spot where 
they could peer through without being seen, 
even if a cautious flare were used by the owner 
of the raft. The sun dipped down over the 
straight edge of the sea. The waters deepened 
to a puddle of ink, and the heavens became a 
wash of Prussian blue, pricked with spangles. 
Eel Grass Bay idly thrust and parried the 
wind with rapierlike blades encased in the 
black velvet scabbards of darkness. The occa¬ 
sional rusty squawk of a gull was mocked in¬ 
shore by some jealous land-fowl. Then quiet 
fell, a soft, swaying stillness, with the moon 


THE ENIGMA OF EEL GRASS BAY 225 

edging up like a gilt wafer. Eel Grass Bay 
changed to a field of fixed bayonets, under the 
brandishing brightness. 

Steven and Beth ate their lunch. They felt 
somewhat stiff, but there was no cramp to 
their eagerness. They were all eyes and ears. 

Time slipped by. The moon climbed jauntily 
upward, like a golden balloon, drawn by some 
invisible thread. 

Suddenly Blunder-Beth put her finger on 
her lips. They listened breathlessly. There 
came the faintest swish of oars. Then a boat 
poked about a bend. The figure of a man 
squatted between the oarlocks. A black slouch 
hat was pulled low over his face. He was bent 
forward, so that his identity was completely 
hidden. 

On came the boat, noiselessly, swiftly. It 
swished past the peering two, then disap¬ 
peared around another angle. Silence reigned 
once more. 

‘ ‘We’ll wait until he comes back,” cap¬ 
tained Steven. ‘ i Then we’ll follow him at a 
safe distance. It will be easy, there are so 
many bends in this trail.” 

“Su-sup-suppose he should hear us? He 
might take us back to the raft, and make us 
walk the plank-” 

“Or muzzle us,” ended Steven with the hint 


226 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

of a laugh. ‘ ‘Don’t worry. I’ll take the oars. 
And I’ll muffle them so that even the ghost of 
old Massasoit himself couldn’t hear as much 
as the splash of my paddle.” 

They waited. It seemed an age. But time 
always lags under excitement. As a matter of 
fact, the man in the slouch hat was unusually 
speedy. 

“He’s coming back, and I’m no Massasoit,” 
whispered Blunder-Beth. “Why didn’t the 
dog groan?” 

The stranger’s boat came into sight. 

“He has the dog with him. That’s why 
there’ll be no ghost groans slated for tonight. 
Sally should sleep in peace.” 

With the same steady, business-like strokes 
the boat came around a bend in the grass. 
Cautiously Steven took his oars. More care¬ 
fully still he dipped them. He paddled along 
with great dexterity. 

Finally, ahead they heard a dull crunching. 
The stranger had beached his boat. Steven 
and Beth nosed around the last bend in the 
grass. The man in the slouch hat was lifting 
something. It was a square, black object like 
a chest or box. It appeared to be covered with 
some old cloth or canvas. He removed it with 
great care from the boat and bore it across the 
sandy road to a waiting, darkened auto. With 



THEN A BOAT POKED ABOUT A BEND 













































































228 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


a grunt he raised the covered box to the seat 
and pulled the covering down over it. Hastily 
he glanced up and down the road. 

Then Beth, who had been leaning forward, 
lost her balance. She scuttled into the bottom 
of the old scow with a faint, but audible thud. 

Steven all but groaned. But Beth was play¬ 
ing true to form. If it had been Nancy now, 
demure, cautious Nancy- 

The dog in the boat began to growl ominous¬ 
ly. His ears had detected what the man at 
the car had missed—the sound of Beth’s fall 
in the scow. 

Swiftly Steven drove the boat into a thin 
patch of eel grass. He edged it to a landing 
spot some fifty feet below where the dog and 
the boat lay beached. He helped Beth ashore 
into a bunch of jumpers. The bushes cast 
thick shadows. 

The man ran across the road, down to the 
boat. He talked in low tones to the dog. 

“Now’s your time, Steven,” urged Beth. 
“Skip across the gully in the road. Peek into 
that box and see what he has.” 

Steven went. Beth was a veritable Queen 
Beth, and not to be disobeyed. 

Anxiously she watched him, even as she 
kept an eye on the stranger. He was hiding 
his boat under an overhanging bank. Fortu- 


THE ENIGMA OF EEL GRASS BAY 229 

nately he had attached a leash to the dog’s 
collar. 

Beth saw Steven disappear in the shadows 
of the lightless car. Then her heart catapulted 
into her mouth. The stranger, accompanied 
by the dog, was crossing the sandy road to the 
darkened motor. Where was Steven? What 
could he be doing ? Why didn’t he come back ? 

Both man and dog disappeared into the 
darkness. There followed a silence that was 
filled with shivers for Beth. She heard a me¬ 
tallic clank, clank, clank, then the sound of a 
wheeze and a few sputtering hiccoughs. Next 
came a thunderous sound as the man cranked 
the car. 

Blunder-Beth gulped with thankfulness. 
The roar of the engine increased. There was 
a grinding of gears, a crunching of sand. The 
sound diminished, and the car started away. 

Then she jumped. For Steven had stolen 
up without her observing him. He stood at 
her elbow. Then he brought out his pocket 
flash. But all the while he kept a hand hidden 
in his left pocket. 

“I’ve brought the evidence,” he stated. 

Then he produced the most enormous frog 
Blunder-Beth had ever seen, and quite the 
most lively. 

“It’s the grand-dad of all frogs. It’s the 


230 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

hermit, all right. He has a box full of all the 
other grand-dad frogs that have lived in Eel 
Grass Bay since the Creation—if size counts 
for anything.” 

“A box of frogs! Whatever-” 

Steven grinned broadly. “Greenbacks,” he 
told her, “from the mud of the bay. Real 
greenbacks, too—later to be changed into 
paper ones. Don’t you realize it? He’s cap¬ 
tured a corner on the finest frog-legs here¬ 
abouts. Probably sells them like hot cakes 
to the markets and hotels for that good dish 
Fried Frogs’ Legs. And he must get a pretty 
penny for the bunch too. Hence all the 
secrecy about his movements, lest some one 
else discover his secret storehouse—and be¬ 
come a competitor in a mighty profitable 
business.” 

“But the bits of red flannel on the raft?” 
recalled Blunder-Beth. 

“That’s how he catches them. Nothing like 
red flannel for baiting frogs. I was a double¬ 
headed dumbbell not to hook that clue on 
sight!” 

“Well, there was a treasure in the eel grass 
after all.” 

Yes, indeed,” agreed Steven. “A living, 
lively cache of greenbacks.” 


THE HOUSE OF THE HAUNT 


PARTI 

The House 

“If I s-swallow much more salt water, I 
w-will b-be p-pickled,” gulped Blunder-Beth 
as she continued her valiant bailing. 

“Some one roll me over a barrel,” suggested 
Steven. “I’m a regular brine-keg myself.” 

Followed a dull crunching. The Blunder- 
Beth shivered from bow to stern, rocked, and 
then came to a sudden, shuddering stop. 

Beth sprawled on all-fours. The pail 
clanked along the pebbled, rocky inlet, and 
disappeared from sight, snuffed out by the 
blackness. The spray bit their faces as sharp¬ 
ly as flint; their soggy clothes flapped against 
them. 

Beth got up, flung back the wet mop which 
had replaced her unruly bob. 

Nancy stepped primly over an oarlock into 
the darkness. 

“Oh, I say,” protested Steven, vaulting 
after her. “Let me go ahead. No place for 
you!” 

Nancy’s voice came back to them. It 

231 


232 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

sounded unusually eerie, like some fantastic 
echo. The night swallowed her like some 
clever sleight-of-hand trick. 

“It’s a place for eyes, Steven,” she remind¬ 
ed him demurely. “Your horny rimmed ones 
ducked from sight when the big wave lashed 
the Blunder-Beth.” 

“G-ghost Island,” shivered Beth, as she 
floundered in the rear of the two bodiless 
voices. “Ghost Island—and a boat without a 
rudder! S’bad! But a Steven without gog¬ 
gles—that’s worse! Glad we came though,” 
she declared courageously, as her wet clothes 
slapped at her like clammy, clutching hands. 

4 ‘ Which way have you gone ? My eyes are full 
of the blackness.” 

“Land ahoy! Three points starboard,” 
signalled Steven from the shadows. “Tread 
warily, Queen Beth. You may run athwart 
a ghost!” 

Beth heard Nancy’s protesting, “Shh! 
She’s already too full of shivers. . . . Which 
way is the house supposed to be located, Steve ? 
Bo you know anything about the geography 
of this island?” 

“Nothing except that it runs to ghosts. And 
they haven’t given me their addresses,” he 
ended facetiously. “My eye, but it is dark and 


THE HOUSE 


233 


clammy! Some of the water’s evaporating. It’s 
being replaced by a seven-course hunger.” 

“—which will have to be satisfied largely by 
air, ’ ’ reminded Nancy. ‘ 4 The wave that lopped 
off the Blunder-BetWs rudder licked away 
most of our own belongings likewise.” 

“Nearly everything’s gone,” agreed Steven. 

4 ‘ Presto! Just like that! ’ ’ 

Blunder-Beth came panting up behind them. 

“I r-read somewhere,” she recalled, “that 
when you g-go g-ghost-hunting, you should 
c-carry m-matches in a dry place. Here, take 
this, Steven, please.” 

“My word, Mother Robinson! If she hasn’t 
dry matches done up in oil-silk!” 

“If I’d had any sense, I’d have done myself 
up in it too!” 

Beth sniffed disgustedly at the darkness and 
the roaring surf beyond. 

“I think we are in for adventure all right,” 
laughed Nancy quietly. 

“Was there ever a better setting?” gleefully 
anticipated Beth. 

“Not in a month of moons,” cheerfully ac¬ 
ceded Steven. 

Dry matches had largely restored his confi¬ 
dence in the mad-cap adventure on which they 
had embarked. 


234 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


Grandmother Stanton declared that there 
was just about as much sense to ghost-hunting 
as there was to jousting windmills a la Don 
Quixote. But since she pooh-poohed wraiths 
and all kindred spectral tales concerning them, 
she had reluctantly agreed that a night at 
Ghost House could do them little harm, other 
than intruding on their slumbers. And 
Grandmother Stanton was far too wise to set 
stumbling-blocks in the way of the Irrepres¬ 
sible Three when the trio had their hearts set 
on solving some deep, dark mystery. 

Besides, the owner of the island, an old man 
w T ho lived at the village inn, was unable to offer 
any reasonable explanation for the curious 
happenings which made up the sinister tales 
persistently encircling Ghost House. The 
little island property without its unsavory, 
haunted heritage would have made an admir¬ 
able summer-place for anyone with “half an 
eye to beauty,” as Blunder-Beth expressed it. 
But each summer produced the same sorry 
tale of frightened, disgruntled tenants, who 
speedily fled the place as though it were ac¬ 
cursed; a sorry history indeed for a once at¬ 
tractive house now fast falling to age and 
uselessness through its hapless reputation. 

“Yessir,” Mr. Hepplewhite, the owner, had 


THE HOUSE 


235 


declared, thumping the floor roundly with his 
gold-headed cane, “yes siree, sir, I call it all 
balderdash myself. Or I did so, until one lone 
night I tried staying there. Three hours 
were quite enough for me—right on my own 
property too. There are queer goings-on 
there, and that’s no hearsay. Saw the ghost 
myself, right before my very eyes. Let fly 
this heavy cane right straight into the thing! 
Not a single sound! Will you believe it, soon’s 
the cane whacked to the floor, the thing still 
floated there, a death’s-head, as pert as you 
please. My cane went right through it, too. 

“’Twas enough for me. I called the boy 
who had brought me over, sent him in for the 
cane, and came back that night, scared out of 
my own property. Since then I’ve tried to 
sell the place. No one would have it for a 
song. Leased it at regular starvation rates 
because of the ghost. Had to refund the 
money, too, even when I’d told the tenants in 
advance all about the ghost! And I’m really 
meaning it when I say I’d sell that house or 
exchange it for a flivver, I’m feeling that 
strong on the subject. It’s a white elephant, 
a ghost is, on anybody’s hands. I’d rather 
have the elephant myself. Could sell it to a 
zoo. What can a body do with a haunted 


236 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

house—and an honest-to-goodness ghost, that 
leers at you as impudent as you please, though 
it’s been flung at, shot at, and fled from!” 

Blunder-Beth had taken him up. 

“Suppose we solve the mystery for you, 
Mr. Hepplewhite. The place would be worth 
something then, wouldn’t it?” 

“’Twould be paying property,” admitted 
the old man. “And, truth to tell, I need it.” 

“Then you wouldn’t object to our trying to 
lay the ghost?” persisted Blunder-Beth. 

“Object!” he exploded. “Why, you could 
have a month’s vacation there every summer, 
just as a sample of my gratitude.” 

“Oh, of course we couldn’t accept that,” 
protested Beth. “We just want your per¬ 
mission to see what we can see. The fun of 
trying to solve the mystery would be quite 
enough.” 

“You go right ahead,” encouraged the old 
man. But he shook his head dolefully. “Don’t 
believe Mis’ Stanton would be very anxious to 
let you youngsters loose in a place like that. 
Wouldn’t blame her none. Still, if she says 
yes, it’s a go. Watch out there, though. 
There’s something queer afoot. ’Tisn’t natural 
either, a thing a body can’t explain, though he 
can see it with his own eyes.” 


THE HOUSE 


237 


“Perhaps,” Nancy had suggested, “there’s 
some unfortunate tale hinging on the old place. 
Is there now?” 

“Let me see,” slowly recollected Mr. 
Hepplewhite. “It hasn’t much of a pedigree, 
the old house. Built not more than a stretch 
of thirty years ago. But it’s evidently seen 
enough even in its short life—enough of scared 
people. ... It’s strange to me that only since 
I bought the island property has the house 
been haunted. That’s what I can’t under¬ 
stand. Looks as if the spooks had a grudge 
against me. ... As for the house itself, 
there’s a story that the first owner, an artist 
by the name of Long, who bought the island 
property, disappeared suddenly. He died 
intestate—that is, with no heirs. It took the 
usual length of time before the state could 
offer the property for sale. Somehow people 
have never remained long, either as owners or 
tenants. Idle superstition, perhaps. But 
there are enough who claim that unfortunate 
deeds cling to a house, even as they do to a 
person. 

“Anyhow, that artist-chap was never heard 
of or seen since that day twenty-nine years 
ago when he rowed himself over to his island 
estate, anchored his boat, and disappeared for 


238 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

all time. They found the boat as he had evi¬ 
dently left it. Everything in the house was in 
first class order. Even the paint was still wet 
on the canvas of a drawing he was making. 
They said he was right handy with the paint 
brush. . . . The sheriff and his posse made 
every kind of a search. They even blasted the 
water round about the island to see if he had 
been accidently drowned. He was an expert 
swimmer, too. Not a thing could be learned. 
The island might have opened up and swal¬ 
lowed him.” 

“Mr. Hepplewhite,” asked Blunder-Beth, 
“how do you know so much about the story, 
please? It’s strange Grandmother Stanton 
never told us.” 

The old man smiled whimsically. “Perhaps 
your grandmother dislikes tales suggesting 
possible violence. ... I learned the facts 
from the reports of a coroner’s jury which 
met in this county at the time. The papers 
are on file in the county seat. Indeed, I looked 
into the matter very painstakingly when these 
ghost tales began to pop up.” 

“Odd thing,” commented Steven. “Seems 
as if someone had some unjust enmity against 
you, Mr. Hepplewhite. Now doesn’t it, sir?” 

“I’ve been regretfully coming to that con¬ 
clusion,” admitted the old man. “Yet I con- 


THE HOUSE 


239 


fess I fail to see how I could have offended 
anyone. Of course, I’m rather a crusty old 
curmudgeon, and my gout does make me 
mighty unpleasant at times, I fear. But I’ve 
never deliberately done an act to harm any¬ 
body.” 

“Of course not,” intervened Nancy swiftly. 

The old gentleman’s neck was becoming an 
apoplectic red. He kept moving his right leg, 
as though the pain in his joints were pene¬ 
trating his patience. 

“What of the island itself'?” demanded 
Blunder Beth suddenly. “I’d like to know 
something about that island.” 

The old man looked at her sharply. 

“And what should there be to know?” he 
queried. 

Blunder Beth squinted down at the lone 
freckle at the end of her short nose. She made 
a ludicrous picture as she sat there. 

“I don’t know,” she temporized. “I— 
don’t—know.” 

“Beth’s romancing again,” hastened Nancy. 
“She’s always jumping to the most extraor¬ 
dinary conclusions, once her imagination has 
its trend between her thoughts.” 

The old man smiled mechanically as he got 
up. 

“Well, imagination’s a good thing, I’m not 


240 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


denying it. But within bounds — within 
bounds. Perhaps that poor artist-chap paid 
for an overshare of imagination.” 

Blunder Beth still squinted at the freckle 
at the end of her nose. Her eyes were half 
shut. For once she refrained from any reply. 

“Good luck to you,” called out Mr. Hepple- 
white, starting towards the door. 

He stopped suddenly before a drawing table 
in a corner. There were crayons scattered 
about, and a hazy sketch. He frowned down. 

“Who’s the pastelle artist here?” he asked. 
“But I think I know.” 

He glanced over his glasses at Blunder- 
Beth. 

“Oh, no,” she denied quickly. “I couldn’t 
sketch anything even if some one held my 
hand. Haney’s the artist here.” 

Mr. Hepplewhite thumped out. 

“My clothes weigh half a ton,” exaggerated 
Blunder-Beth. “I must stop and squeeze some 
of the moisture out, or I shall be water¬ 
logged.” 

“Good idea!” commented Steven. “You 
and Nancy stay here while I scout about. It’s 
beginning to rain again, worse luck! We’ve 
matches, but nothing dry enough for a torch.” 

“Speak for yourself, Steven,” laughed 


THE HOUSE 


241 


Beth, pulling out another length of oilsilk 
from the front of her blouse. 

“My eye! What else have you hidden away? 
You’re a regular storehouse.” 

“You’ll see. This packet holds half a dozen 
slim but dependable spermaceti candles. 
They’re fashioned with a hard twisted wick 
guaranteed to burn long and lustily.” 

“You had all these things in the boat until 
they bolted with the big wave. ...” 

“No, I didn’t foresee any big wave. I was 
moved by purely selfish motives. I intended 
to do a little lone scouting without calling on 
any of the company’s accessories. . . . But 
now, you see, I nobly dedicate them to the 
common cause.” 

Beth swept Steven a dripping, swishing 

bow. 

“Noble lady,” quoth he, “my humble, grate¬ 
ful huzzas in ye name of ye company.” 

“ Arise, Sir Torchbearer.” 

“Beth!” deplored Nancy. “Will you ever 
be serious in an emergency? When we have 
the night before us, a haunted house, a lonely 
island, and plenty of sooty darkness-” 

“Nay, plaintive maiden,” replied Blunder- 
Beth. “Nary a sober look—till I behold yon 
shivering ghost.” 

Despite their chattering the girls had sue- 



242 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


ceeding in wringing out some of the surplus 
wet from their water-soaked clothing. Steven 
waited a bit impatiently, his eyes straining 
away in the darkness. 

“How shall we find the house ?” crisply de¬ 
manded Nancy. “We’ll be circling about it 
for hours. With this wind and rain even dry 
matches and candles will be lost.” 

“Follow me!” suddenly ordered Beth. “I 
know the way. You see, I’ve studied the 
island. Just walk after me for half a dozen 
paces. What do you notice, even in the dark¬ 
ness?” 

“An upward slope,” recognized Steven. 
“But it tells me nothing.” 

“That’s because you don’t talk the island 
tongue, ’ ’ flung back Blunder Beth. ‘ ‘ You see, 
it’s fashioned something like a short cone. In 
other words, it’s an upright carrot, cleanly 
chopped off at the top by the perpetual action 
of the waves-” 

“And the house-?” breathlessly inter¬ 

cepted Nancy. 

“The house squats on the top. It’s as neat 
as you please. All we have to do is to con¬ 
tinue climbing up in the darkness, following 
our toes, instead of our nose.” 



THE HOUSE 


243 


“Beth’s holding out on us,” declared Steven. 
“She’s full of withheld information.” 

“Nothing but imagination. I’ve brought 
nothing else except a bottle of waterproof 
drawing ink from Nancy’s table.” 

“Whatever do you plan to do with water¬ 
proof ink*?” asked Nancy. 

“You’ll do that,” answered Beth. “I 
thought we might need a sketch of the place.” 

Sometimes they didn’t follow the veering- 
stick of Beth’s will-o’-the-wisp wanderings. 
As Grandmother Stanton phrased it, “Beth 
possessed a positive genius for blundering into 
trouble or into some carefully concealed 
mystery.” Sometimes it was mere coinci¬ 
dence; again it was some slight straw which 
set her mind along the right lane of travel. 
Besides Beth still believed in mystery as a 
glamorous, every-day possibility, if one had 
but the eyes to discern. 

Steven’s essential hard-headedness and 
Nancy’s gentle detachment in no wise dis¬ 
couraged Beth. If the dark, boarded house 
over the way, squatting in its somber setting 
of pines, failed to produce an intriguing, black 
history, she would wander on to a likelier en¬ 
vironment, her enthusiasm no whit blunted. 
Beth belonged to some past age of clanking 


244 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

glamor and misty unreality. The twentieth 
century blare of dream-dispelling saxophones, 
loud horns and hurty-burlv might have been 
downright disillusioning to less of an optimist 
and a dreamer. If, in more than one instance 
some fascinating tale Beth had woven out of 
the sheer gossamer of some odd incident, 
failed to materialize, she would declare, “Well, 
it might have been,” and not let the matter 
disturb her any further. 

“Uh!” ’Twas Beth’s voice speaking from 
the right. “I’ve run into something!” 

“You should have sounded your horn,” pro¬ 
tested Steven. 

“I-it’s a p-post with a bald head.” 

“An entrance post, ornamented hy a stone 
sphere,” elaborated Steven. 

“F-feels just like a d-death’s head,” stut¬ 
tered Blunder-Beth. 

‘ ‘ Gome on, ’ ’ urged the boy. “ We ’re on the 
property. The walk’s defined by sunken, 
broken bricks. Let’s creep along before the 
next blast of wind propels us.” 

Steven led the way, with Nancy gripping 
the edge of his sweater. Blunder-Beth trailed 
along in the rear, sniffing at the damp, musty 
odor which now began to replace the tang of 
the ocean. 


THE HOUSE 


245 


“ Smells old—and clammy, like a tomb,” she 
averred, 

“I shall be glad to escape from the wind 
and the wetness,” admitted Nancy, as she en¬ 
deavored to dodge Steven’s heels in the dark¬ 
ness. 

The boy stopped suddenly. Nancy collided. 
Blunder-Beth went down to her knees on the 
slimy stones. 

“Sorry,” he apologized. “It’s the wide 
stone step. I didn’t expect the house so soon. 
Just a moment now and I’ll go in.” 

“Perhaps it’s locked,” suggested Nancy. 
“What then?” 

“Mr. Hepplewhite gave me the key.” 

They heard him fumbling in the darkness. 
They might have stood with bandaged eyes. 
There was a click, a dull, protesting squeak, 
then a rush of dank air. 

“Just a moment,” he called out cheerily. 

Behind the partially opened door followed 
a quick scratching. A light flickered fitfully. 
The draught speedily extinguished it. Again 
Steven struck, this time more warily. Beth’s 
candle finally sputtered, stabbing the darkness 
with spasmodic blades of light along the edge 
of the yawning door. 

Blunder-Beth went in hurriedly, closely 


246 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

followed by Nancy. They shut the door. 
Steven took the precaution of locking it, leav¬ 
ing the key in the keyhole. 

“ It ’ll be safer there, ’ ’ he declared. ‘ ‘ It will 
also serve to forestall any practical joker, who 
may possess a duplicate key.” 

They turned now to study this house which 
had acquired so ill a reputation through the 
inexplicable occurrences that had hovered over 
it. It had been a fine old dwelling, fashioned 
along noble lines. The wide arching stairway 
climbed upward from a long hall that cut 
straight through the house. High-posted, 
square rooms gave from both sides of this 
central corridor. Echoes trod on the heels of 
echoes with startling promptness, as if even 
an old house could weary of solitude and wel¬ 
come human intrusion. 

“Shall we search it?” asked Nancy. 

“That won’t be necessary,” answered 
Steven. “You know the upper part of the 
house has been boarded off. Summer folk 
have little use for many rooms. So it’s been 
some years since the upper half has been used 
at all. Also the cellar doors are sturdily 
spiked against intrusion.” 

“Now the ghost,” reasoned Beth from be¬ 
hind the panelled staircase, “appears out of 


THE HOUSE 


247 


this little door which snuggles under the stairs 
here. I’ve seen the drawings of the house. 
Yes,” she smiled at them quizzically, “I took 
the flivver one day. I went to the county seat. 
Grandmother Stanton gave me a letter; she 
had Judge Travers add a postscript. I had no 
trouble. There were yellow drawings of the 
house made at the time of the disappearance. 
Some people thought there might be some 
secret passage or hidden room. So architects 
sounded the house over, accounting perfectly 
for all the space. ... Now this little door 
enters a sizable store-room, a long passage¬ 
like room, which contains nothing but shelves, 
wide heavy shelves a foot and a half from the 
top.” 

“What’s above this?” 

“Library on the second floor.” 

Beth disappeared inside the panelled door 
under the staircase. 

“My!” her voice came gloomily. “It’s a 
high closet.” 

They followed her in. The room was a 
black canyon with only its wide shelves at the 
top. It was a singularly disappointing ghost 
chamber. Even Beth’s enthusiasm paled 
slightly. 


248 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


“Looks like a wild ghost chase,” murmured 
Nancy. 

Beth’s disappointment was short lived. 
Soon she emerged briskly, and crossed the hall 
into the wide room which was located directly 
opposite that little door under the staircase. 

“Suppose,” she suggested, “we wait in the 
darkness here by the fireplace.” 

“I propose a fire,” prompted Nancy. 

“Oh, no,” demurred Beth. “Phantoms are 
as afraid of fire as wild animals are.” 

“That’s a positive sign that they’re not to 
be trusted, ’ ’ declared Steven. 41 Any thing that 
can’t stand light isn’t on a level. There’s 
trickery somewhere.” 

“Perhaps. But if we’re to solve this mys¬ 
tery, and we want to see anything, we might 
as well follow the tactics that will bring it out. 
If there’s a hoax, maybe we can play our little 
joke also.” 

Diplomatic Nancy now succeeded in effect¬ 
ing a compromise. 

“It’s no use sitting here shivering in the 
dark —all the evening. Mr. Hepplewhite told 
us to help ourselves in any way to further our 
search. He said that there’re old newspapers 
and wood in the kitchen closet—left by the last 
tenant. We’ll kindle a fire, dry ourselves out. 


THE HOUSE 


249 


then extinguish the embers in ample time to 
welcome the wraith.” 

For once Beth did not protest. Shortly 
Steven returned laden. He had a fire curling 
up through the wide, blackened mouth of the 
huge fireplace. 

The three toasted themselves comfortably 
until they were as “dry as bones,” as Beth 
declared quite cheerfully. Well before the 
hour of midnight, by Steven’s wrist-watch, 
they permitted the fire to die down. Then they 
extinguished the last glowing embers with 
water from the kitchen. They flung them¬ 
selves down to wait. 

Twelve o’clock passed; twelve-thirty. The 
surf boomed a long, mournful cadence. The 
rain clacked at the darkened windowpanes 
like bones tapping, tapping. The old house 
shook and shivered under the urge of the 
winds. Its timbers creaked and snapped. 

Nancy stifled a yawn. The hands on Steven s 
illuminated dial marked the hour of one. 

Then, without any warning, came a faint, 
sighing sound that was not wind, nor creaking, 
crumbling walls. That well of darkness under 
the winding stairs no longer remained empty 
air. 

As if exercised by tbe will of some wicked 


250 BLUNDER'S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

djinn something glimmered and floated there, 
leering at them full from the blackness. 

“T-the d-death’s head!” stuttered Steven, 
in whispered excitement. 

There, faintly but discernibly danced the 
outlines of a bleached skull with sunken 
sockets and toothless, yawning jawbones. 

Crash! A dull thud. Something dropped 
to the floor. 

But the skeleton head still hovered there, 
quite unmindful of the knot of wood which 
Steven had accurately aimed at it. 

“My eye! Went right through it,” mut¬ 
tered the boy, as if disbelieving what the three 
of them had actually beheld. 

Then he crept stealthily but swiftly towards’ 
the spectre under the stairs. 



PAKT II 


The White Skull 

A wafer of white pitted the darkness. It 
seemed to swim through the murk like a globe- 
fish in black waters. 

The girls heard Steven’s “Not a thing!” 
His voice was amazed, incredulous. 

Beth and Nancy crept forward. They 
edged near the spot where he still flung the 
Cyclops’ eye of the electric torch he had con¬ 
cealed in his pocket. Nancy deliberately 
lighted a candle. The light flared uneasily as 
if even a candle could acquire ragged, shaken 
nerves. 

Nancy held the taper high. Its unsteady 
gleam flickered over the dull, burnished under¬ 
surface of the winding stairs, on the panelled, 
low door with its substantial knob and key¬ 
hole. Yet nothing stirred. 

Beth reached for Nancy’s candle. 

4 4 Please, ’ ’ she entreated. 4 4 Wait! ” 

Swiftly she turned the knob on the little 
door under the stairs. She crept cautiously 
to one side. Her eyes were downcast, as if 
she were in deep reverie over the inexplicable 
occurrence they had just witnessed. She 

251 


252 BLUNDER'S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

stooped down and held the candle near the 
dark floor. Then she smiled at them impishly. 
Still edging close to the door she came back. 

“Well?” queried Steven flatly. “Does the 
skeleton leave calling cards behind it?” 

“The handwriting’s there,” declared Blun- 
der-Beth. “But it isn’t on the wall. Hurry, 
please. Follow me! No time’s to be lost. 
Ridiculous, I call it! Ridiculous! Why a 
death’s head should insist upon playing havoc 
with this defenseless old house is beyond me! ’ ’ 

She raced up the stairs, calling back to 
Steven, “Please bring along that sturdy 
hatchet you found in the kitchen cupboard.” 

Steven obediently disappeared. Nancy 
followed Beth. Their footsteps rang awk¬ 
wardly loud in the emptiness as though unseen 
amplifiers broadcast their every movement 
on mischievous winds. 

“Gracious!” whispered Blunder-Beth, “we 
sound like a flock of camels clattering up!” 

“More like wooden shoes on cobbles,” mur¬ 
mured Nancy from behind her. 

They heard Steven returning with elephan¬ 
tine tread. It seemed as if his boyish foot¬ 
steps set the rheumatic old house to trembling 
afresh. Odd how their fancies ran riot. 
Blackness has a way of vesting bogies with 


THE WHITE SKULL 


253 


reality. Sometimes the unseen is infinitely 
more vivid than that which can be weighed or 
measured. 

Steven examined the rusty nail-heads which 
held the boards across the disused door. 

“Nothing disturbed for some time. See the 
thickness of that rust!” 

“Perhaps,” suggested Nancy, “metal rusts 
and films more quickly with the salt air for¬ 
ever seeping over it.” 

Steven expertly wedged the hatchet blade 
under the loosened boards. A long, protesting 
snarl emerged, as if some monster had been 
rudely awakened from sleep. 

Beth pressed her fingers tightly to her ears 
and damped her teeth together, declaring, “It 
gives my teeth the shivers. Feels as if I were 
chewing rust myself.” 

Steven pried loose the three lowest boards. 
These revealed the substantial knob and key¬ 
hole. He stooped and tried the knob. 

“My! Here’s fortune! Quite unlocked!” 

“Why double-lock a boarded door?” queried 
Beth, as she wriggled in on all-fours, a very 
eager but undignified small figure. 

Nancy followed at her leisure. 

Steven’s electric torch dove here and there 
in the room. There was a brick fireplace on 


254 BLUNDER'S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


one side with a mantel above it. There were 
four deeply recessed windows with netted 
small panes. The room was finished in time- 
touched white. 

Beth stood with her candle light falling on 
the polished floor. Then swiftly she ran in 
turn to each one of the recessed windows. She 
seemed to be peering out. 

“Whatever do you see, Beth?” asked 
Nancy, shaken from her usual aplomb. “ You 
flutter about like a frightened moth.” 

“Don’t you see it?” 

“What?” they called out in duet. 

She made a clownish bow as she held the 
candle close to the polished floor. Then, in a 
stooped position, she encircled the room, hold¬ 
ing the candle low. 

“If I didn’t know you-” began Nancy. 

“You’d think I was walking in my sleep, 
wouldn’t you?” laughed Beth. “Well, I 
don’t think I’m the one asleep. Where are 
your eyes?” 

“On the floor, of course,” said Steven. 

Finally Beth burst out, “Can’t you see 
there’s no dust on it, though it’s been boarded 
for who knows how long? Look at the sills 
of these deep-set windows.” 

“Dust, as thick as our heads,” observed 
Steven disgustedly. 


THE WHITE SKULL 


255 


“Some one evidently mopped up the dust 
from the floor,” said Nancy. 

“But why?” queried Steven. 

“Oh, Mr. Blunderbuss,” went on Beth in 
a mock, pained voice. “To conceal his or her 
movements, of course. Footsteps show up 
plainly on a dust-draped floor.” 

“Whoever heard of a ghost mopping up a 
floor for fear its phantom footsteps might dis¬ 
place the dust! I thought ghosts carried 
soundless wings or some sort of contrivance to 
keep them free from contaminating worldly 
solids.” 

“Well, this ghost was taking no chances 
with contaminating solids. Perhaps his wings 
moulted,” laughed Beth. 

Crossing the room she squinted up the flue 
in the wide chimney. 

“Huh!” she told them, somewhat crest¬ 
fallen. “It’s not big enough to let a child 
through!” 

“Perhaps it’s a baby ghost,” taunted 
Steven. 

“Whoever heard of a baby ghost!” flared 
Blunder-Beth. 

But Steven stood beside her, peering owlish- 
ly up the black well that led to the roof. 

“ ’Tis rather stingy,” he admitted. “Must 
he an English ghost.” 


256 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


“Why?” demanded Beth, her curiosity 
always at the boiling-point over remarks she 
couldn’t comprehend. 

“ Because the English are accustomed to 
chimney sweeps,” answered Steven in a mock 
voice. “And this, you will observe, my dear 
Watson, is an exceedingly clean flue—in fact, 
I might say, it is the one sootless flue it has 
been my privilege to meet. Have you read, 
Watson, my monograph on the Smtlessness of 
Sootf” 

“Gracious, Steven, aren’t you clever? Why, 
it is as free from dust as the floor!” 

“May I call your attention to the infant 
ghost once more? Or would you prefer a 
baboon, a monkey-” 

“Ora parrot?” flashed Beth. 

“Something,” mused Nancy, “uses the flue 
for an exit. “That’s plain.” 

“As plain as the Suitlessness of Soot,” 
grinned Steven. 

“But why,” demanded Beth, “should the 
whole floor space be cleaned as well?” 

“The Problem of the Dustless Floor, 
ladies,” began Steven again, “reminds me 
that my friend, the Emperor of Bingedabob, 
presented me with a crown jewel for solving 
a parallel problem-” 


THE WHITE SKULL 


257 


Beth was down now examining the bricks. 

Ruefully she arose. “The mortar’s as dark 
in patches as a decayed tooth,” she declared. 
“But it’s unbroken. The bricks aren’t re¬ 
movable. . . . Oh, dearie me, I’m such a 
stupid! I forgot my second trap. Maybe I 
caught a few feathers from the ghostly 
pinions.” 

They followed her back downstairs. 

“Now, don’t you come over the threshold,” 
cautioned Beth, “for you may destroy vital 
evidence. Your torch, please, Steven.” 

She flung a pallid pool of light onto the 
dusky floor. 

“It shines near the threshold,” observed 
Steven. 

“Correct,” pronounced Beth, with her 
grand manner returned. “And my first trap 
shines, lady and gentleman, because I applied 
a delicate coat of Nancy’s waterproof ink, 
thinned with glycerine, deftly to the space in¬ 
side the threshold.” 

“Glycerine,” stated Steven, as if arguing 
aloud, “has an admirable disposition. It is 
quite unmoved by climatic unpleasantries. In 
other words, it prevents the indelible ink from 
drying.” 

“Just so,” agreed Nancy. 


258 BLUNDER'S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


/‘Well, I’ve caught a spook-autograph,” 
exulted Beth. ‘‘Look here! Be careful now. 
Right outside the rail.” 

Swiftly they dropped to their knees, and 
examined the spot indicated by Beth’s brown 
linger. 

“A rubber heel-print—masculine gender,” 
found Steven. 

“Perhaps your baby ghost’ll now return to 
the limbo of the mistaken,” flashed Nancy. 

“It’s an odd heel,” pointed out Beth. “No 
make I know. It’s so big and has such funny 
marks.” 

“No,” agreed Steven, disappointedly. “I 
don’t know it either. There is something queer 
about it.” 

“Now, Steven,” coaxed Beth, “won’t you 
please tear a sheet from your notebook? We’ll 
get a black-and-white of the wraith’s pedi¬ 
gree.” 

Hastily he ripped out a page from his note¬ 
book, a clean, blank page, for Steven disliked 
lines, declaring they looked like “hurdles to 
be leaped with words.” 

Painstakingly Beth clapped the paper to the 
print on the floor. In triumph she held up the 
result. 

“Good,” approved Steven. “We can 


THE WHITE SKULL 


259 


identify the original from it, and that’s all 
that’s necessary.” 

‘ 4 What an unmanly thing for a grown-up,” 
put in Nancy. “Such a childish prank—play¬ 
ing spook!” 

Beth now turned her attention to the siza¬ 
ble keyhole in the stout door. She held the 
torch close. 

“Caught a feather,” she triumphed. 

They in turn studied the keyhole. 

“There’s a dab of white on the right side,” 
discovered Steven. “Painted wings, Lady 
Beth. Is that what you deduce?” 

He rolled the words as he grinned at her. 

“I coated the keyhole with my prepared 
ink,” Beth confessed. “We can’t say what 
the white substance is yet. But we can prove 
that the keyhole has been tampered with.” 

“And the death’s head was a ghastly 
white,” deposed Steven in would-be dramatic 
tones. 

‘ ‘ Chalk-white, probably, ” murmured 
Nancy. “How could a trick be turned 
through the medium of the keyhole?” 

They were silent for a bit, trying to reason 
the puzzle out separately. 

“It balks me at every angle,” declared 
Steven finally. “That corpse-white skull was 


260 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

the size of a human head. It eouldn’t possibly 
crawl through a keyhole.” 

“That’s what baffles me,” confessed Nancy. 

Beth didn’t comment on the problem. “I’m 
putting myself in the spook’s shoes,” she told 
them. “How' would I lose my head if I were 
a ghost?” 

“You wouldn’t,” chuckled Steven. 

“Thanks for not beheading me, Squire 
Courtesy,” she returned. 

“Oh, dear!” Beth stood up as quickly as 
though somebody had pulled an invisible 
string. “We’re all solids after all—perfect 
blockheads.” 

“Now, what’s wrong?” 

“We should have seen to it that some one 
hasn’t run away from the house.” 

“Impossible,” denied Steven. “The dark¬ 
ness would blind the eyes of an army.” 

“I suppose so,” admitted Beth slowly. “My, 
but I’m famished, positively hollow.” 

“Three hours to daylight,” Steven informed 
them from his watch. “Listen. It’s no longer 
raining. The house is motionless. Which 
means that the wind has blown itself out to 
sea. Now you girls must try to obtain the 
regulation forty winks. I’ll hack out a rud- 


THE WHITE SKULL 


261 


der from the barrel-head in the kitchen. We’ll 
salvage the Blunder-Beth & Go ” 

Steven disappeared to his tedious task. 

• • • • • 

Nancy was aroused by the sensation of light 
coloring her eyelids. It was almost as though 
her rest had been interrupted by some sound. 
Had it? 

“Beth,” she murmured sleepily, “I wonder 
if-” 

Nancy became conscious that her voice was 
hollow, falling on empty air. She rubbed her 
eyes free from their brief sleep. 

Daylight was peering in with curious eyes 
from the casements of the dingy windows. It 
swept the room with a surge of opal, which 
only intensified the forlornness of that gaunt 
interior. 

“Beth, oh, Beth!” 

Nancy was on her feet now. But no Beth 
came to instant attention under the urge of 
her words. And Beth slept with the proverbial 
one eye open. Perhaps she had gone to the 
kitchen to learn how Steven progressed with 
his make-shift rudder. Yes, of course, that 
would be it. How foolish to leap instantly to 
shivering conclusions! What was there to fear 
now that morning had dawned, and the storm 


262 BLUNDER'S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


had blown away? Even the sea would soon 
glaze itself to complete smoothness. 

Nancy tripped through the hall to the half 
open door. 

4 4 Steven!’’ she called. 44 Steven! Beth!’ 9 

No one answered as she pushed the door 
swiftly open. 

Belief flooded back, a warm, enheartening 
tide. For she had suddenly felt weak to the 
toes. 

44 Oh, Steven!” 

The boy flung the sleep from his eyes and 
stood up, a bit unsteadily. 

44 My word! Drowsed off!” 

44 Where’s Beth?” 

44 I don’t know.” 

44 We must find her. She’s such a mad-cap 
for impulses. One can never tell what Beth 
will blunder into next!” 

Steven glanced at the front door. 

44 Key’s all right. And the door’s locked.” 

Nancy ran lightly up the broad stairs. 
Steven followed her. The treads registered 
the usual squeaking, noisy protests. 

The door at the top opened suddenly, and 
Beth, wide-eyed, pink-cheeked, and laughing, 
confronted them. 

44 Ever hear about an early bird?” 


THE WHITE SKULL 


263 


“Yes, and also about the worm, too, that was 
caught by arising still earlier,” darkly dis¬ 
approved Steven. 

“You frightened me, Beth,” stated Nancy 
with a slight quiver in her voice. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Beth was all contri¬ 
tion. “Let’s sit right down on this top stair, 
and I’ll tell you all about it. ... I waked up, 
pursued by an idea. I couldn’t help but feel 
that the sootless flue was very important. . . . 

Well, do you wish to see what’s happened? 
Are you rested enough?” 

“Absolutely,” agreed Nancy, all animation 
in her new interest. 

Excitedly they followed her in. Beth went 
directly to the fireplace. One slim arm crept 
inside. A faint click was heard, then a long, 
grating sound. 

“My word!” exploded Steven. “It moves, 
it walks-” 

“Even as it talks,” ended Beth. 

Sure enough! Beth’s finger had found the 
secret brick that released a lever, which in turn 
moved the left side of the flue leading to the 
roof. In this way the space could be widened 
or narrowed at will. And the bricks were 
uneven enough to admit of ample toe-space 
for one bent on clambering out. 


264 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


“Very clever!” commented Steven. 

“But that’s not all!” added Beth. “Now, 
let’s just step off the brick hearth in front of 
the fireplace. You wait here a moment and 
I’ll run down stairs. But mind you, keep 
away from the hearth!” 

They heard her racing down the creaking 
staircase. Silence came and what seemed a 
long intermission. Then— 

Slowly, soundlessly, the entire flat, bricked- 
in surface before the fireplace came up, inch 
by inch. It disclosed Beth’s ruffled, brown 
bob against a wooden backing. It showed 
also that thin slabs of brick had been fastened 
by mortar into grooves on the boarded trap. 
The whole was neatly hinged at the upright 
brick surface of the fireplace. 

Beth emerged while Steven extended two 
sturdy legs to hold the trap open while he 
peered below. 

“Right above one broad shelf!” he dis¬ 
covered. 

Nancy was examining the white lines which 
edged the bricks on three sides. Curiously 
enough, it was dingy, mortar-white on top, 
but dull silver beneath. 

“How clever,” she declared. “A little 
curved trough of tin so realistically painted 


THE WHITE SKULL 


265 


as to resemble a line of mortar. In addition, 
it’s set neatly into a very thin channel on the 
wooden floor, so that it appeared absolutely 
even when the trap was in position.” 

“I tapped it by accident,” confessed Beth. 
“It didn’t sound right. I picked at it and 
hurt my finger on a sharp edge. See that little 
sliver of light. That’s where my finger-nail 
rubbed off the false mortar, alias paint, and 
disclosed the tin beneath. Then I went down¬ 
stairs, climbed up to the shelf, and kept push¬ 
ing, until presto! I learned the trick.” 

“What about the roof?” asked Steven. 

“I went up there too,” admitted Beth 
shamelessly. “It’s flat. There’s a trellis on 
the sea side. It’s built to look rickety, but it’s 
as strong as you please. It dips straight down 
to the rocks, where the sea, the spray and the 
rain have blotted out any other tell-tale 
marks.” 

“What next?” queried Steven. 

“If you’ve the rudder in shape, we must 
start for home. Grandmother may already 
have begun to worry, for fear the storm did 
us more damage than it actually did.” 

“I do hope,” wished Nancy, “that she’ll 
think we arrived before the severity of the 


266 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


storm broke. We certainly should have done 
that had it not been for the lost rudder.” 

“Of which providentially she doesn’t 
know,” put in Steven. 

It was mid-forenoon and bright sunlight 
when Mr. Hepplewhite came stumping up the 
drive. The sun flecked the grass with points 
of phosphorus. But its bright smiling 
warmth had not yet dried up the heavy 
moisture which began to steam up from the 
sod. 

Impatient Beth ran down the drive to meet 
him. In her excitement she dropped her 
handkerchief. The bit of white danced along 
behind the two. Laughingly the girl pur¬ 
sued it. 

Nancy and Steven greeted Mr. Hepple¬ 
white on the piazza. 

“We’re having a second breakfast,” Nancy 
told him. “More coffee and waffles, we were 
that famished. . . . Do have some with us.” 

Steven drew up a big chair before the cozy 
table. Mr. Hepplewhite slumped heavily into 
it. Beth now came up the steps. 

“Beth, here’s your coffee.” 

‘ ‘ I—think—I—don’t—want—it, ’ ’ answered 


THE WHITE SKULL 


267 


Beth in an odd, hesitating voice, quite unlike 
her own. 

Nancy glanced at her sharply. She looked 
rather white. Of course, she was very tired. 
And the excitement of narrating the night’s 
business had upset her. That must be it. 

“Well?” began the old man, sipping coffee 
heartily. “Now, let’s hear what you found.” 

Nancy and Steven waited for Beth to begin. 
But Beth only stirred uneasily. She seemed 
to find difficulty. Her brown face was un¬ 
usually grave. 

“Mr. Hepplewhite,” she asked finally. 
“What were you doing in the closet under the 
staircase last night?” 

The coffee-cup clattered against the saucer. 
Coffee splashed unheeded. 

Steven and Nancy gazed wide-eyed. For 
Mr. Hepplewhite’s face was as white as the 
shaking cup in his hand. His eyes clung to 
Beth’s. 

“I—I-” he began. 

“Oh, please,” entreated Beth. 

From her pocket she produced the page 
from Steven’s notebook. She unfolded it and 
held it accusingly before his eyes. 

“That, sir, is the print of a heel-mark from 
the floor of the closet under the stairs. It 


268 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 


exactly matches the heel on yonr right boot, 
which now shows very plainly, with yonr leg 
crossed as it is.” 

Nancy’s and Steven’s eyes raced to the boot. 
Snre enough! It was a heavy heel, a rubber 
heel of an odd mould, evidently specially 
fashioned to aid him in walking. 

4 ‘Also,” went on Beth, “I saw these same 
heel-marks just now on the damp drive.” 

“What else do you know?” asked the old 
man, moistening his under lip. 

“We’ve discovered the secret of the old 
house.” 

“What!” he exploded, half rising. 

The cup and saucer fell to the piazza with a 
crash. The old man stood trembling, as pale 
as the death’s head that had taunted them but 
a few hours before. 

4 4 Give it to me! Give it to me at once! ’ ’ his 
voice shrilled. “I’ve tried for months to find 
it. No one must know. I promised him. I 
promised him.” 

The three stared at him, too amazed for 
further speech. 

Weakly he sank back into the chair. “I 
meant no harm,” he wailed. “And a promise 
is a promise. The artist-chap befriended me. 
When his unfortunate past pursued him even 


“THAT, SIR, IS THE PRINT OF A HEEL'MARK” 




270 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

to the island where he had hidden the bank’s 
gold, he disappeared with the gold safely 
hidden. . . . He died suddenly, without ever 
telling me where the money was concealed. 
But once he had told me, almost pensively, 
that he wanted someone to right a wrong, 
someone whom he could trust. He said that 
the risk and the temptation were tremendous. 
... I put two and two together. He told 
me that the gold was misappropriated from 
the bank where he’d held a position of trust. 
He’d secreted the bullion in the house he’d 
built on the island. He never dared to return 
to this locality. I met him many states 
away . . . 

“So I came here, located the house by care¬ 
ful questioning, and purchased it. Then my 
great idea. I would keep the mystery sur¬ 
rounding the disappearance warm. And I’d 
go further and give the house a ghost. It 
would free me from unwelcome intrusion 
while I searched for the gold. In order to 
arouse no suspicion I would lease the house. 

. . . When you youngsters wished to see the 
ghost, I thought I’d humor you. I hoped to 
allay your curiosity permanently. I never 
dreamed that you’d locate the missing 
money-” 


THE WHITE SKULL 


271 


“Ah,” protested Nancy gently, “bnt we 
haven’t, Mr. Hepplewhite. We only dis¬ 
covered the secret trap and the movable wall 
in the flue.” 

Silence seemed to thunder about them. 

Then Mr. Hepplewhite leaned back and 
laughed brokenly. 

“I don’t know whether I’m glad or sorry,” 
he confessed. “I’m sick of searching for the 
money, and of playing this foolish hoax. Yet 
a promise is a promise. I must go on, leav¬ 
ing no stone unturned. And should I find it, 
it will go back to the bank in some anonymous 
way-” 

“We wish you luck,” murmured Steven. 
“And we pledge you our word that we’ll 
tell no one what we know. We’re sorry that 
Beth’s words misled you.” 

“Yes, indeed,” echoed Beth. . . . “But 
Mr. Hepplewhite, how did you get the death’s 
head through the keyhole?” 

The old man chuckled softly to himself. He 
reached in a pocket and pulled out a flat, 
delapidated wallet. 

“Now shut your eyes,” he commanded. 

There came a faint, sighing sound like that 
they had heard under the stairs. 

“Ready!” 


272 BLUNDER’S MYSTERY COMPANIONS 

A! black, inflated toy balloon dangled before 
their eyes. On it was most realistically painted 
a grisly white skull. 

“Just like Black Art,” he said proudly. 
“All I had to do was to take it before it was 
blown up, put a slim pencil inside, and press 
it through the round part of the big keyhole. 
Then presto! a breath brings a ghost!” 

“Well, I’ve always heard,” laughed Blun- 
der-Beth, “that ghosts were nothing but air. 
Now I know it!” 


FINIS 






LIBRARY 


OF 


CONOR 


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